r.3S^ 


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J 


BROUGHT  TO  BAY. 


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Brought  to  Bay. 


By  E.  R.  roe. 


"  Hard  upon  the  hickory  oar  ! 
She  moves  too  slow ; 
Time  we  were  at  Shawneetown, 
Long  time  ago." 


BOSTON: 
ESTES    AND    LAURIAT, 

299-305  Washington  Street. 
1882. 


Copyright,  1882, 
By  EsTES  AND  Lauriat. 


All  Rights  Reserved. 


rilESS   Of   010.    H     tLLIS,    141    fll*NKLIM   STUfrT,    60ST0H. 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER.  PAGE. 

I.    Adown  the  Wabash 7 

II.     Cave-in-Rock 19 

III.  EARTHqUAKES 34 

IV.  The   Tippecanoe. — A  Child's   Religion.— 

The  Cave 39 

V.     Government     at     the     Circumference.  — 

Divided  Counsels       .....        56 
VI.     A   Perplexed    Frenchman. — A   Rescue. — 

Backwoods  Surgery 67 

VII.     The  Wounded  Man's  Story  ....        84 
VIII.     An   Amphibious    Town.  —  Worship   in  the 

Woods.  —  "The  Jerks"      ....        92 

IX.     Serving  God  on  Trust 109 

X.     "  All  the  Pigeons  in  the  World."  —  After 

the  Wilderness,   what?    ....       135 
XI.     Doubtful  Tidings  — Hypochondria.  —  Sin- 
clair AT  St.  Genevieve     ....       151 
XII.     Three   Years    Later. — Tm:   Clew   recov- 
ered. —  Leyba  in  the  Toils     .        .        .       168 

XIII.  An  Interview.  —  Light  Breaking  in  .        .       174 

XIV.  Virginia    in    Court.  —  Freeman    Again. — 

Leyba 182 


4 

CHAPTER. 

XV. 

XVI. 

XVII. 

XVIII. 

XIX. 


CONTENTS. 

PAGE. 

Santa  Clara.  —  Antoine  de  Ulloa  .        .  209 

Father  and  Son 228 

A  River  Voyage 237 

In  the  Shadow 257 

Old  Tabby's  Story.  —  Ho  !  for  Cuba        .  263 


XX.     A  Catastrophe.  —  Conclusion 


274 


BROUGHT  TO   BAY. 


CHAPTER   I. 

ADOWN    THE    WABASH. 

A  MORE  excellent  craft  than  the  good  keel- 
boat  Tippecanoe  never  floated  Indian  corn  to 
New  Orleans.  At  any  rate,  this  was  the  opinion 
of  her  commander,  Captain  Tom  Summers.  He 
stood  upon  the  banks  of  the  Wabash  at  Port  St. 
Vincent,  or  Vincennes,  as  the  Indiana  town  was 
more  frequently  called,  and  contemplated  his  ves- 
sel, ready  laden  for  a  voyage  down  the  Ohio  and 
the  Mississippi,  with  as  much  pride  as  any  old  salt 
could  feel  who  walked  the  deck  of  a  full-rigged 
ship.  His  crew  were  all  on  board,  and  as  he  was 
about  to  push  out  into  the  stream,  a  gentleman 
came  down  the  bank  toward  the  boat,  and,  with  a 
well-bred  air,  inquired  if  he  had  the  pleasure  to 
address  Captain  Summers. 

"  My  name  is  Summers,"  replied  the  captain, 
with  an  inquiring  look  at  the  stranger.  "What 
might  your  name  be  .-* " 

"  My  name  is  Leyba,"  replied  the  stranger,  "and 


8  BROUGHT  TO  BAY. 

I  come  to  request  a  passage  on  your  boat  as  far  as 
Shawneetown." 

"  Whar  's  your  traps,  stranger  ? "  said  Tom.  "  We 
are  just  pushing  her  off." 

"My  baggage  is  at  Shawneetown,"  said  the 
gentleman;  "I  also  am  ready  to  move." 

"  Well,  walk  aboard,  and  we  '11  soon  bid  Vin- 
cennes  good  by." 

Without  another  word,  the  new-comer  did  as  he 
was  bidden,  and  quietly  seated  himself  near  the 
stern  of  the  boat.  The  line  was  cast  off,  the  bow 
of  the  boat  thrown  out  into  the  stream,  and  the 
Tippecanoe  was  soon  floating  rapidly  down  the 
Wabash. 

The  sun  had  gone  down,  and  it  was  already  near- 
ly dark ;  the  river  was  in  fine  boating  condition, 
and  as  his  symmetrical  craft  glided  rapidly  down 
the  stream,  Summers  held  the  helm,  and  almost  in- 
stinctively controlled  her  movement,  while  he  cast 
occasional  scrutinizing  glances  toward  his  passen- 
ger. Finding  him  indisposed  to  talk,  Summers 
determined  to  ply  him  with  a  few  civil  questions. 

"You  said  your  name  was  —  ?" 

"  Leyba,"  replied  the  other. 

"Spanish,  isn't  it.?" 

"Yes,  Captain  Summers ;  my  father  was  Spanish." 

The   deferential  way  in  which  he  pronounced 


ADOWN  THE    WABASH.  g 

the  words  "Captain  Summers"  impressed  Tom 
favorably.  It  indicated  that  he  appreciated  the 
importance  of  saiHng  with  so  reputable  a  com- 
mander. Still  there  certainly  was  a  sinister  look 
about  the  dark-haired  stranger,  and  so,  by  mere 
association  of  ideas,  without  any  suspicion  as  to 
the  stranger's  character,  he  added  : 

"  They  say  them  Cave-in-Rock  fellers  is  Span- 
iards." 

This  was  really  intended  as  an  interrogation, 
but  Mr.  Leyba  (as  he  had  called  himself)  either 
did  not  so  understand  it,  or  he  purposely  evaded  it ; 
he  said  only,  — 

"  This  is  a  fine  craft  of  yours.  Captain  Sum- 
mers.    I  think  I  know  a  good  keel." 

"  I  think  the  Tippecanoe  is  a  right  smart  boat," 
said  Tom.  "Here,  George,"  continued  he,  to  one 
of  the  crew,  "  take  the  helm  while  the  stranger 
and  I  turn  in.  Keep  her  well  in  the  channel ;  it 
would  be  bad  luck  to  run  into  the  brush  in  this 
high  water."  Then,  turning  to  Mr.  Leyba,  "Come 
below,  and  let  me  show  you  our  inside." 

As  they  turned  to  go  down,  the  captain  heard 
the  sound  of  paddles ;  he  stopped  and  awaited 
their  nearer  approach,  and  soon  discovered  a  single 
Indian  coming  alongside  in  a  small  canoe.  Without 
any  ceremony,  the  savage  climbed  on  board,  hold- 


lO  BROUGHT  TO  BAY. 

ing  a  line  from  his  canoe  in  one  hand  and  a  ham 
of  fresh  venison  in  the  other.  Recognizing  Sum- 
mers as  being  in  command,  the  Indian  held  the 
venison  toward  him,  and  in  a  guttural  tone  uttered 
the  English  word  he  knew  best :  — 

"Whiskee?" 

"Yes,"  said  the  captain  ;  "where's  your  bottle?" 

The  Indian  laid  down  the  venison,  put  his  hand 
into  the  bosom  of  his  old  buckskin  hunting-shirt, 
and  drawing  forth  a  long-necked  gourd,  handed  it 
to  Summers.  Then,  Tom  beckoning  Leyba  to  fol- 
low, both  descended  into  the  boat. 

The  cargo  of  the  Tippecanoe  consisted  of  corn 
and  whiskey.  But  the  boat  was  by  no  means  fully 
loaded,  which  Leyba  manifestly  observing,  Tom 
explained  by  saying  that  he  intended  to  fill  up 
with  salt  at  Shawneetown.  Summers  then  knocked 
the  bung  out  of  a  whiskey  barrel,  filled  the  Indian's 
gourd  with  water,  and,  reversing  it  suddenly,  thrust 
the  long  neck  into  the  whiskey  barrel.  At  the  same 
time  he  looked  up  at  Leyba,  and  remarked  with  a 
twinkle  in  his  eye,  "Turning  water  into  whiskey  !  " 

A  few  minutes  sufficed  for  the  water  and  whiskey 
to  interchange  places  ;  and  suddenly  withdrawing 
the  gourd,  and  putting  in  a  corn-cob  stopper,  he 
carried  it  up  to  the  Indian.  The  savage  took  a  few 
swallows  from  it,  and  shaking  his  head  exclaimed, 


A  DOWN  THE    WABASH.  i\ 

with  well-marked  disgust  but  in  very  bad  English, 
"  Too  muchee  Wabash.  Ugh !"  meaning,  of  course, 
that  the  whiskey  had  been  watered.  Then  sud- 
denly dropping  over  the  side  into  his  canoe,  he 
soon  disappeared  in  the  darkness. 

After  partaking  of  the  venison,  and  such  fare  as 
the  boat's  supplies  afforded,  Leyba  declined  to  lie 
down,  and  accompanied  the  captain  again  upon 
deck ;  and  there  he  insisted  on  remaining  until 
morning.  Summers  soon  gave  up  the  effort  to 
draw  his  passenger  into  conversation,  and  devoted 
his  whole  attention  to  his  floating  craft,  but  some 
time  about  midnight,  while  he  was  trying  to  deter- 
mine the  position  of  his  boat  by  uttering  short, 
sharp  whoops,  and  listening  to  the  echo  which 
came  back,  the  stranger,  as  if  forgetting  himself, 
said,  — 

"  She  wants  to  go  to  larboard,  Captain  Summers." 
Tom  moved  his  helm  accordingly,  and  remarked, 
in  a  tone  indicating  a  desire  for  conversation,  — 

"  You  have  got  a  good  ear,  Mr.  Leyba.     This  is 
not  the  first  time  you  have  run  the  rivers .'' " 
"Not  the  first,"  replied  Leyba. 
"  You  have  been  to  Orleans,  mayhap .-'  " 
"  I  know  every  bend  from  here  to  the  Gulf  " 
Summers  remained  silent  for  a  few  minutes  ;  but 
the   stranger's   knowledge   of  the   river   won   his 


12  BROUGHT  TO  BAY. 

admiration,  and,  taking  a  flask  of  whiskey  from  his 
pocket  and  offering  it  to  Leyba,  he  said,  — 

"  Take  something,  stranger !  " 

"  I  thank  you.  Captain  ;  but  I  never  drink  any- 
thing." 

A  man  who  knew  every  bend  in  the  Mississippi, 
and  who  yet  never  drank  whiskey,  was  something 
too  deep  for  the  comprehension  of  Tom  Summers  ; 
and  giving  up  all  further  attempts  at  familiarity, 
he  called  another  man  to  the  helm  and  turned  in 
below  for  a  short  sleep. 

The  monotonous  voyage  upon  the  Wabash  to  its 
mouth,  was  continued  without  any  incident  of  note, 
until  the  Tippecanoe  entered  the  Ohio,  and  was 
moored  at  Shawneetown,  about  sundown  on  the 
next  evening.  Leyba  thanked  Captain  Summers 
for  the  accommodation  which  had  been  extended 
to  him,  bade  him  adieu,  and  so  soon  as  the  boat 
touched  shore,  walked  away  and  disappeared. 
After  he  was  gone,  one  of  the  boat  hands  handed 
to  Captain  Summers  a  leaf  seemingly  from  an  old 
memorandum-book,  which  had  been  dropped  on  the 
deck  by  Leyba.  On  it  were  these  words,  apparently 
written  some  years  before  : 

"  Angela  with  the  black  woman." 
"  Known  only  as  Virginia." 
*'  Limestone  to  Shawneetown." 


ADOWN  THE    WABASH. 


13 


Hoping  again  to  meet  Leyba,  he  put  the  paper 
in  his  pocket  for  safety,  with  no  suspicion  of  any 
special  interest  attached  to  it.  But  Leyba  was  not 
seen  again,  and  his  disappearance  remained,  for  the 
time,  a  mystery. 

As  Captain  "  Tom  "  Summers  (as  he  was  called 
by  his  friends  and  he  appeared  to  have  no  enemies), 
played  a  principal  part  in  the  events  of  this  veritable 
story,  it  will  not  be  amiss  to  have  a  closer  view  of 
him.  He  was  a  characteristic  and  superior  speci- 
men of  a  now  extinct  order  of  river-men,  —  the 
keel-boatmen.  Robust,  muscular,  hardy ;  generous, 
brave,  intelligent  in  his  proper  sphere;  master  of 
river-craft,  and  a  natural  leader  among  the  men  of 
his  class, — Tom  Summers  was  a  man  showing  in 
marked  degree  the  effects  of  that  broad  freedom 
which  is  born  of  the  Great  West.  He  thought  for 
himself,  untrammelled  by  conventionalism  ;  and  he 
added  to  much  natural  shrewdness  a  practical  knowl- 
edge of  men,  acquired  in  his  fifteen  years  of  keel-boat 
life  on  the  Western  rivers.  While,  therefore,  he 
was  illiterate,  —  being  barely  able  to  read  and  to 
write,  —  he  was  intelligent  as  to  matters  not  beyond 
his  field  of  vision  ;  and  as  a  brave  and  generous 
man,  master  of  his  vocation,  he  well  deserved  his 
eminence  among  men  of  his  class.  Such  was  the 
captain  of  the  Tippecanoe. 


14 


BROUGHT  TO  BAY. 


As  the  ancient  village  of  Shawneetown — ancient 
to  the  Indian  tribes  who  formerly  inhabited  the 
place,  —  was  the  residence  of  some  of  the  principal 
characters  in  our  story,  they  will  here  be  briefly 
introduced  to  the  reader. 

"Old  Dan  Rose,"  as  he  was  usually  called,  had 
brought  his  family  to  this  then  rising  village  about 
two  years  before.  The  family  consisted  of  himself ; 
his  wife ;  his  grown  son,  Tim ;  his  daughter,  Mrs. 
Freeman ;  and  her  daughter,  Virginia,  who  was  yet 
a  child.  Besids  these  was  an  old  slave  named 
Tabby,  who  came  with  the  family  from  Limestone 
(now  Marysville)  in  Kentucky. 

Mrs.  Freeman  —  or  "  Katy,"  as  her  parents  called 
her — had  been  married  at  Marysville.  Her  hus- 
band had  treated  her  with  such  cruelty  that  she 
had  been  compelled  to  seek  relief  in  divorce.  But 
after  their  legal  separation  her  late  husband.  Free- 
man, had  kept  her  in  constant  terror  for  some 
years,  by  stealing  away  their  child,  Virginia,  who 
had  several  times  been  reclaimed  by  the  mother 
with  great  difficulty.  A  desire  to  get  beyond  the 
reach  of  her  tormentor  had  induced  Dan  Rose,  her 
father,  to  move  five  hundred  miles  down  the  river 
to  Shawneetown.  The  mother  insisted  on  calling 
her  child  by  the  family  name,  unwilling  she 
should  ever  bear  that  of  her  father ;  and  so   the 


A  DOWN  THE    WABASH.  15 

young  girl  was  known  in  the  village  as  Virginia 
Rose. 

Two  or  three  days  before  the  arrival  of  the  Tippe- 
canoe at  Shawneetown,  Freeman,  the  girl's  father, 
had  made  his  appearance  in  the  town.  He  had 
come  down  the  Ohio  in  a  small  pirogue,  with  a 
load  of  flour  and  a  small  crew  of  his  own  negroes. 
After  disposing  of  his  flour,  Freeman  notified  old 
Dan  Rose  that  he  came  armed  with  the  proper 
legal  authority  to  reclaim  his  child,  and  that  he 
meant  to  take  her  away.  He  soon  found,  however, 
that  there  was  a  higher  law  in  the  village  than  that 
administered  by  any  of  the  courts.  The  citizens 
held  a  meeting,  and  notified  Freeman  tliat  he 
would  not  be  permitted  even  to  see  his  child, 
much  less  to  take  her  away.  This  decision 
was  accompanied  by  such  manifestations  of  indig- 
nant feeling  as  to  convince  Freeman  that  his 
effort  was  altogether  hopeless.  He  then  begged 
permission  to  see  the  child  in  the  presence  of  her 
friends.  This  was  granted  him,  and,  hardhearted 
as  all  thought  him,  he  wept  upon  taking  his  leave 
of  her.  This  was  only  a  few  hours  before  the  land- 
ing of  Captain  Summers'  keel-boat ;  and  the  next 
morning  at  break  of  day  Freeman  started  up  the 
river  on  his  return. 

Within  an  hour  after  the  departure  of  Freeman's 


1 6  BROUGHT  TO  BAY. 

boat,  the  mother  awoke,  and  found  that  the  daughter, 
who  always  slept  by  her  side,  was  gone.  Alarmed, 
she  hastened  to  her  father's  bedside,  exclaiming 
with  a  cry  of  agony,  "  Tom  Freeman  has  stolen 
away  my  child ! "  Without  a  word  of  reply  old 
Dan  Rose  sprang  out  of  bed,  and  within  a  few 
minutes  the  whole  household  were  up.  The  neigh- 
bors were  visited,  but  there  were  no  tidings  of  the 
missing  child.  It  was  soon  found  that  Freeman 
had  left,  and  his  boat  was  still  visible  some  miles 
above  the  town,  over  the  long  reach  of  open  water. 

It  was  but  the  work  of  a  few  minutes  for  Tim 
Rose  to  gather  a  few  trusty  companions,  who,  with 
ready  rifles  and  fleet  horses,  were  soon  taking  the 
shortest  route  through  the  woods  to  the  mouth  of 
the  Wabash  ten  miles  above. 

They  reached  the  Wabash,  entered  a  skiff  kept 
there  for  ferry  purposes,  and  gained  the  middle  of 
the  Ohio  River  in  time  to  intercept  Freeman. 
They  entered  his  boat,  told  him  their  errand,  and 
were  permitted  with  apparent  readiness  to  look  for 
the  lost  darling.  She  was  nowhere  on  board ! 
The  negro  boatmen  were  called,  and  questioned 
with  rifles  at  their  heads,  but  they  all  declared 
with  trembling  earnestness  that  they  had  seen  no 
girl  on  board. 

Tim  Rose  was  astonished,  but  not  quite  satis- 


ADOWN  THE    WABASH.  ly 

fled  ;  he  took  one  of  the  colored  men  into  the 
skiff,  rowed  off  some  distance  from  the  pirogue, 
and  subjected  him  to  a  searching  examination, 
telling  him  he  should  be  shot  if  he  hesitated  to 
disclose  the  whole  truth,  and  promising  protection 
and  reward  if  he  revealed  the  whereabouts  of 
'Ginia  Rose. 

"What  is  your  name,  boy  ?"  said  Tim. 

"Peter,  sah." 

"  Would  you  like  to  be  a  free  man  ?" 

"  I  reckon,"  answered  the  slave,  with  a  light  in 
his  countenance  which  shone  even  through  his 
terrible  fright. 

•'  What  did  your  master  do  with  the  little  girl } " 
questioned  Tim. 

"  Fo'  God,  I  dunnonothin'  'bout  de  gal.  Didn't 
see  no  gal." 

"Where  was  your  master  all  night  ? " 

"In  de  pirogue,  sah." 

"  Didn't  he  go  ashore }  " 

"  No,  sah  ;  didn't  go  out  de  boat  last  night." 

"  Nor  before  starting  this  morning  ? " 

"  No,  sah ;  didn't  go  out  no  time." 

"  If  you  are  lying,  you  are  a  dead  nigger,"  said 
Tim  ;  "  but  you  seem  to  be  telling  all  you  know. 
Let  us  go  back,  men,  and  put  the  boy  on  board. 
It's  mighty  strange  what  became  of  'Ginia."     On 


1 8  BROUGHT  TO  BAY. 

returning  to  Freeman's  boat,  Tim  exclaimed  with 
a  tone  and  manner  not  to  be  mistaken,  "Tom 
Freeman,  if  you  carry  off  my  sister's  child,  you 
die." 

"  Before  God,"  replied  Freeman,  "  I  have  not 
seen  my  child  since  I  parted  with  her  yesterday  at 
your  father's  house."  Freeman  was  evidently  as 
much  surprised  as  her  uncle  at  the  disappearance 
of  the  child,  and  after  once  more  assuring  himself 
that  'Ginia  could  not  possibly  be  hidden  on  board, 
Tim  and  his  party  reluctantly,  and  with  sad  disap- 
pointment, returned  to  Shawneetown. 


CHAPTER    11. 

CAVE-IN-ROCK. 

A  T  the  time  of  our  story  the  United  States 
owned  a  manufactory  of  salt  at  a  point  twelve 
miles  back  of  Shawneetown,  known  as  the  "  Illinois 
Saline."  From  those  works  large  quantities  of 
salt  were  shipped  to  various  points  up  and  down 
the  Ohio,  and  it  was  this  trade  chiefly  which 
had  given  a  start  to  the  town.  It  was  for  the  pur- 
pose of  filling  up  his  cargo  with  this  salt,  for 
which  New  Orleans  furnished  a  ready  market,  that 
Summers  landed  at  Shawneetown.  A  few  hours 
sufficed  to  get  his  lading  on  board  ;  and  then, 
having  heard  of  the  mysterious  disappearance  of 
'Ginia  Rose,  he  called  on  Mrs.  Freeman  and  gave 
to  her  the  memorandum  found  on  his  boat,  hoping 
that  it  might  at  some  time  furnish  a  clue  to  the 
abductor  of  the  child.  Immediately  afterwards  the 
captain  put  his  boat  into  the  stream,  to  begin  the 
long  voyage  to  New  Orleans. 

Soon  after  dark,  before  the  Tippecanoe  had  floated 
many  miles  down  the  beautiful  river,  there  came 


20  BROUGHT  TO  BAY. 

up  a  very  heavy  fog ;  and  as  a  matter  of  caution  at 
that  stage  of  water,  Summers  decided  to  lie  by  for  a 
a  few  hours,  till  the  fog  should  disperse.  He  there- 
fore headed  his  boat  for  the  shore,  and  landed  on 
the  Kentucky  side,  opposite  the  mouth  of  the 
Saline  River,  some  eight  or  ten  miles  below  Shaw- 
neetown.  His  men  went  ashore,  built  a  fire  at  a 
little  distance,  and  made  preparations  for  supper, 
while  Summers  turned  in  below,  where  he  laid 
himself  down,  and  soon  fell  asleep. 

How  long  he  had  been  sleeping  he  did  not  know ; 
but  on  awakening  he  became  conscious  that  some- 
thing unusual  was  going  on.  He  heard  the  sound 
of  oars,  which  he  knew  could  not  be  those  of  his  own 
boat.  He  rose  hastily,  and  started  for  the  deck, 
but  the  moment  his  head  appeared  above  the  hatch- 
way, he  found  himself  confronted  by  two  men,  with 
heavy  pistols  in  their  hands. 

"  You  are  our  prisoner.  Captain  Summers,"  said 
one  of  them.  "  Your  men  are  all  on  shore ;  you 
are  alone  and  in  our  power ;  but  make  no  resistance, 
and  you  shall  not  be  harmed." 

Tom  Summers  was  not  the  man  to  do  a  foolish 
thing.  He  saw  that  resistance  was  useless,  and  he 
submitted.  There  was  something  in  the  voice  of 
the  man  who  had  addressed  him  which  sounded 
familiar,  though  the  dress  and  appearance  of  the 


CAVE-IN-ROCK.  21 

men  were  strange ;  but  he  made  no  reply.  With- 
out a  word,  he  returned  below,  leaving  the  deck  in 
the  possession  of  his  captors.  The  measured  stroke 
of  oars  told  him  that  his  boat  was  being  towed  by 
some  other  craft,  and  after  some  time  he  felt  a 
slight,  sudden  shock,  and  knew  that  the  boat  had 
touched  the  shore. 

Captain  Summers  had  already  realized  that  he 
was  in  the  hands  of  the  robbers  of  Cave-in-Rock ; 
and  that  the  recent  accounts  of  the  depredations  of 
the  river  pirates  who  made  this  cave  their  head- 
quarters were  but  too  well  founded.  After  the 
boat  was  made  fast  he  was  approached  by  a  number 
of  armed  men,  who,  telling  him  he  would  not  be 
harmed,  bandaged  his  eyes  and  led  him  on  shore. 

Summers  had  often  landed  at  Cave-in-Rock,  and 
he  soon  felt  sure,  from  the  closeness  of  the  air, 
that  he  had  entered  the  cavern.  When  he  had  pro- 
ceeded but  a  little  way  he  was  placed  in  a  large 
basket,  or  cage,  and  felt  himself  drawn  up  to  a 
higher  apartment.  From  this  point  two  men  con- 
ducted him  through  devious  ways,  to  an  inner 
chamber  of  the  cavern,  unbandaged  his  eyes,  placed 
a  lighted  lamp  and  food  before  him,  and  telling 
him  to  remain  in  that  place  at  his  peril,  bade 
him  good-night. 

By  the  time  Summers  had  completed  his  meal, 


22  BROUGHT  TO  BAY. 

which  was  not  only  abundant  but  excellent,  a  man 
appeared  from  an  inner  apartment  of  the  cavern, 
bearing  a  rude  mattress  and  a  little  bedding,  —  of 
which  very  little,  indeed,  was  necessary.  He  laid 
them  down  near  Summers,  and  addressed  him 
as  follows  :  — 

"  Captain  Miner  sends  his  compliments  to  Cap- 
tain Summers,  and  says  that  he  will  do  himself  the 
honor  of  calling  upon  his  guest  in  the  morning." 

"And  who  might  Captain  Miner  be  .-•  "  inquired 
Tom. 

"It  is  my  business  to  give  you  the  captain's 
orders,"  said  the  man,  "not  to  answei". questions. 
Good  night,  Captain."  And  so  saying,  he  disap- 
peared. 

The  man  was  evidently  a  foreigner,  most  proba- 
bly a  Spaniard ;  but  he  wore  the  appearance  of  a 
man  of  the  world,  and  spoke  English  very  well, 
though  with  something  of  a  foreign  accent. 

When  he  was  alone  Summers  lifted  the  iron 
lamp  which  had  been  left  with  him,  and  proceeded 
to  an  inspection  of  his  underground  quarters  ;  but 
seeing  that  the  oil  was  nearly  exhausted,  he  pru- 
dently used  the  remaining  light  in  adjusting  his 
bed,  and  laid  down.  It  need  not  be  said  that  he 
did  not  sleep,  —  his  position  was  not  favorable  to 
the  approach  of  the  drowsy  god,  —  but  being  alone, 


CA  VE-IN-ROCK. 


23 


and,  as  he  supposed,  out  of  the  hearing  of  all 
others,  he  very  naturally  talked  to  himself  :  — 

"  This  is  a  pretty  scrape  for  the  captain  of  the 
Tippecanoe  to  be  caught  in !  This  is  what  comes 
of  knowing  too  much,  and  of  not  believing  what  is 
told  one.  I  have  seen  Cave-in-Rock  twenty  times 
at  least,  and  I  knew  that  there  used  to  be  robbers 
here  ;  but  that  Tom  Summers  has  been  taken 
captive  by  them,  has  lost  his  boat  and  his  liberty 
together,  without  any  chance  to  show  fight,  is 
more  than  any  man  in  Vincennes  will  believe  !  I 
hardly  believe  it  myself. 

"That  voice  upon  the  boat  sounded  to  me  very 
much  like — but  it  couldn't  be  his.  When  did  he 
learn  the  bends  of  the  river  all  the  way  to  Orleans .-'" 

And  so,  with  vain  surmises  as  to  the  identity  of 
the  robber  captain,  and  bitter  regrets  for  his  care- 
lessness in  allowing  all  his  men  to  leave  him,  he 
spent  the  night.  Some  time  towards  morning  he 
fell  asleep,  in  which  condition  he  remained  until 
awakened  by  the  entrance  of  his  visitor  of  the 
night  before,  with  his  breakfast  and  a  light. 

Setting  down  before  Summers  a  good  breakfast, 
smoking  hot,  the  man  said,  — 

"Captain  Miner  sends  his  compliments  to  Cap- 
tain Summers ;  and,  if  acceptable,  will  visit  him 
in  the  course  of  the  forenoon." 


24 


BROUGHT  TO  BAY. 


"  Tell  Captain  —  Miner  ? " 

"  Yes,  Captain  Miner." 

"  Tell  your  captain  he  is  just  the  man  I  want  to 
see,"  said  Tom. 

The  man  took  up  the  empty  lamp,  left  the  fresh 
one  burning,  and  departed  without  a  word.  On 
examining  the  lamp  Tom  saw  that  there  was  barely 
oil  enough  to  last  while  he  took  his  breakfast :  so 
he  hastened  his  meal,  poured  the  little  remaining 
oil  into  a  cup-like  depression  in  the  rocky  floor  of 
his  prison,  and  blew  out  the  flame. 

In  about  an  hour  two  men  came  to  the  opening 
passage  which  led  to  his  prison,  bearing  a  light. 
One  of  them  approached  Summers,  while  the  other 
retired,  leaving  the  place  in  total  darkness. 

"Captain  Summers,"  said  the  new-comer,"  you 
and  I  are  strangers.  Nothing  I  could  say  to  you 
would  justify  my  proceeding  in  your  eyes :  I  shall 
not  make  the  attempt.  But  as  it  is  solely  owing 
to  my  interposition  that  you  have  not  lost  your 
life  as  well  as  your  boat,  you  will  perhaps  permit 
me  to  explain  to  you  something  of  your  prospect 
for  future  liberation.  First,  then,  your  liberation 
depends  upon  yourself.  You  have  shown  yourself 
a  man  of  sense,  as  I  know  you  to  be.  Had  you 
made  useless  resistance,  you  must  have  perished. 
I  say    must:   you  will    understand  why,    Captain 


CA  VE-IN-ROCK. 


25 


Summers.  When  your  boat  and  its  lading  have 
been  disposed  of,  and  our  own  safety  has  been 
assured,  you  will  be  set  at  liberty.  In  the  mean 
time  you  will  be  made  as  comfortable  as  our  con- 
dition and  ability  will  permit.  For  the  fulfilment 
of  this  promise  rely  upon  Captain  Miner,  who 
knows  how  to  entertain  his  friends  and  punish  his 
enemies.  But  mind.  Captain  Summers,  no  resist- 
ance, and  no  attempt  to  escape!" 

"Answer  me  one  question,"  said  Tom,  when  his 
jailer  had  concluded.  "  Isn  't  your  real  name  Ley- 
ba.?" 

"Captain  Summers,"  said  the  other,  "such  a 
question  as  that  among  gentlemen  is  exceedingly 
rude,  and  is  not  fairly  entitled  to  an  answer.  But 
I  answer  you  on  the  honor  of  a  man, — No!" 

"Well,  Captain,"  said  Tom,  "I  am  your  pris- 
oner ;  and  I  can  do  no  better  than  to  accept  your 
terms." 

Captain  Miner  then  briskly  clapped  his  hands; 
the  man  with  the  light  approached  near  enough 
to  show  the  way,  and  the  robber  captain,  bidding 
Tom  a  polite  "Good  morning,"  retired. 

In  a  few  hours  food  and  light  were  brought  as 
before.  This  time,  after  the  bearer  had  retired, 
Summers  poured  out  nearly  all  of  the  oil  in  his 
lamp  into  the  little  pit  where  he  had  emptied  the 


26  BROUGHT  TO  BAY. 

Other;  and  when  his  evening  meal  was  brought, 
he  did  the  same  thing. 

Some  time  after  he  had  eaten  the  last  meal, 
Summers  laid  down  for  sleep,  but  was  roused  by 
the  sound  of  distant  music.  He  listened  atten- 
tively. The  sounds  came  with  gentle  echoes 
through  the  many  avenues  of  the  cavern;  and 
while  he  strained  his  ears  to  catch  the  notes  of 
this  weird  music,  two  men  came  to  him  with  a 
message : — 

"Captain  Miner's  compliments  to  Captain  Sum- 
mers :  would  be  pleased  to  see  him  in  the  banquet- 
room." 

Summers  permitted  himself  to  be  blindfolded 
without  a  word,  and  was  led  away,  through 
various  windings,  to  a  long  avenue,  opening  into 
a  large,  high-arched  cavern.  Near  the  entrance 
to  this  apartment  he  was  received  by  the  rob- 
ber captain  and  conducted  to  a  seat,  and  he 
observed  that  while  the  whole  cavern  was  brill- 
iantly lighted,  the  little  alcove  in  which  the  chief 
and  himself  were  seated,  was  purposely  kept  in 
deep  shadow. 

The  scene  which  met  the  eyes  of  Summers,  as 
he  looked  over  the  lighted  cavern,  filled  him  with 
astonishment.  There  was  a  vast  hall-like  room, 
large   enough   apparently,  to  contain   a   hundred 


CA  VE-IN-ROCK. 


27 


persons.  The  floor  was  quite  even  and  nearly 
level ;  and  the  sides,  though  rough  and  uneven  in 
general  form,  were  ornamented  with  groups  and 
clusters  of  natural  crystals  of  spar;  while  from 
the  roof  here  and  there  hung  sparkling  stalactites 
in  great  variety  and  profusion.  Around  the  sides 
of  the  cavernous  hall  at  various  points,  lamps 
were  suspended  from  the  rocky  walls ;  and  across 
the  room,  just  before  Summers  and  the  robber 
captain,  was  extended  a  long  table,  loaded  with 
abundant  and  apparently  luxurious  food.  In  the 
further  end  of  the  apartment  sat  a  young  man 
thrumming  a  guitar ;  while  in  the  middle  space  of 
the  room  a  number  of  men  and  women  were 
gayly  dancing.  To  Tom  Summers  all  these  peo- 
ple wore  a  foreign  aspect.  The  women  were  dark 
in  complexion, —  Portuguese  or  Spanish,  he  decided ; 
and  the  men  were  evidently  of  the  same  nation- 
ality. The  few  words  he  heard  spoken  appeared 
to  be  Spanish. 

After  Summers  had  viewed  this  apparently  happy 
scene  for  some  time,  wondering  that  such  men  as 
these  appeared  to  be  could  be  pirates,  Captain 
Miner  beckoned  to  a, young  man  at  the  table,  who 
immediately  poured  wine,  and  placing  the  glasses 
upon  a  tray,  handed  them  to  his  captain.  Present- 
ing the  tray  to  Tom,  he  said, — 


28  BROUGHT  TO  BAY. 

"  Captain  Summers,  here's  that  you  may  never 
meet  a  worse  man  than  Captain  Miner!" 

"  I  drink  that,"  said  Tom,  and  drank  his  glass. 
Not  knowing  just  how  bad  a  man  Captain  Miner 
might  prove  to  be,  he  could  safely  drink  to  the 
hope  that  he  should  meet  no  worse.  But  he  ob- 
served that  the  robber  captain  only  put  the  wine 
to  his  lips,  and  set  it  down  without  tasting.  Sum- 
mers felt  tempted  to  repeat  his  question  of  the 
evening  before ;  but  contented  himself  with  the 
attempt  to  determine  in  the  dim  light  around  him 
if  the  pirate  captain  were  not  in  fact  his  passenger, 
Leyba.  The  man  was  evidently  disguised ;  and 
though  his  voice  much  resembled  that  of  Leyba, 
he  spoke  with  such  a  foreign  accent  that  Summers 
was  unable  to  fully  satisfy  himself  on  the  question  ; 
indeed  he  said  but  little.  After  Summers  had  wit- 
nessed the  dance  for  half  an  hour,  he  was  led  back 
to  his  own  apartment.  But  before  his  eyes  were 
again  bandaged,  he  observed  several  pots  of  paint, 
designed,  as  he  suspected,  for  repainting  the  Tippe- 
canoe. 

When  Summers  had  reached  his  quarters  in  the 
cavern,  his  conductors  unbandaged  his  eyes,  put 
the  lamp  by  his  side,  and  left  him  alone.  This 
time  his  lamp  was  better  supplied  with  oil  than 
formerly  ;  and  after  waiting  until  all  was  still,  Tom 


CA  VE-IN-ROCK.  29 

took  his  pocket  knife,  and  using  it  as  a  spoon 
patiently  transferred  the  oil  which  he  had  saved 
into  the  lamp,  and  to  his  great  satisfaction  found  it 
full.  He  reduced  its  flame  as  much  as  possible  by- 
depressing  the  wick,  placed  it  in  a  little  alcove  in 
the  rock,  to  conceal  its  light  from  any  who 
might  be  guarding  him,  and  then  lay  down  as  if 
for  sleep. 

But  Captain  Summers  gave  no  sleep  to  his  eyes 
that  night.  He  patiently  waited  until  the  distant 
music  had  ceased,  and  long  after  the  faintest  echoes 
had  died  away.  Then,  taking  off  his  shoes,  to 
make  no  noise,  he  carefully  scrutinized  his  prison 
throughout  all  its  length  and  breadth.  It  was 
simply  a  kind  of  grotto,  hollowed  out  by  some  un- 
known agency  in  the  solid  limestone  rock.  There 
were  stalactites  and  other  curious  modellings  of 
Nature,  which  at  other  times  might  have  engaged 
his  attention  ;  but  he  was  looking  for  something  of 
far  greater  present  interest.  In  the  most  distant 
part  of  his  prison,  high  up  in  the  wall  he  perceived 
a  crevice  in  the  rock,  to  which,  with  some  difficulty, 
he  climbed.  His  light  was  too  dim  to  penetrate 
the  darkness  beyond  ;  but,  determined  to  regain 
his  liberty  if  possible,  he  entered  the  fissure,  and 
followed  it.  It  led  him  to  a  yawning  opening  in 
the  rocks,  and  far  down  in  the  darkness  he  heard 


30  BROUGHT  TO  BAY. 

the  sound  of  waters.  At  one  point  he  thought  it 
possible  to  cross  the  abyss,  and  with  cautious  clam- 
bering he  reached  the  spot.  Here  he  hesitated. 
Any  misstep  would  probably  be  instant  death.  He 
took  up  a  bit  of  loose  stone  and  dropped  it  into  the 
cleft ;  but  in  that  movement  the  lamp  slipped  from 
his  grasp,  and  all  was  darkness.  As  he  stood  still, 
almost  horror-stricken,  the  falling  stone  sent  rever- 
berations of  sound  through  the  cavern,  and  fell 
with  a  dull  plunge  into  the  waters  below.  Hazard- 
ous as  appeared  the  attempt,  he  was  about  to  make 
an  effort  to  descend,  when  he  saw,  almost  over  his 
head,  but  beyond  the  dangerous  opening  in  the 
rock,  a  few  dim,  twinkling  lights.  They  were  stars, 
shining  in  their  native  heaven,  and  seen  through  a 
cleft  in  the  rock.  With  the  cautious  movements 
of  a  man  trained  to  difficulty,  he  slowly  felt  his  way 
across  a  narrow  part  of  the  fissure,  and  in  ten 
minutes  more  had  succeeded  in  crossing  the  bar- 
rier, climbing  the  cleft  rock  to  the  top,  reaching 
the  outer  world,  and  once  more  breathing  the  air 
of  liberty. 

It  was  now  midnight.  Tom  Summers  had  boated 
night  and  day  long  enough  to  read  the  hour  by  the 
familiar  stars.  After  some  reflection  he  resolved 
to  proceed  down  the  river,  not  following  its  bends, 
but  keeping  as  near  a  straight  course  as  possible, 


CA  VE-IN-ROCK. 


31 


in  the  hope  of  overtaking  the  Tippecanoe,  which 
he  had  no  doubt  had  been  sent  on  her  way  to  the 
South.  At  the  end  of  the  third  day,  after  a 
laborious  journey  over  hills,  through  swamps,  and 
across  bayous,  he  reached  the  mouth  of  the  Ohio. 
Here  he  found  no  means  of  crossing ;  and  lying 
down,  chilled  and  nearly  exhausted,  he  awaited  the 
return  of  daylight. 

About  midnight  the  attention  of  the  weary  trav- 
eller was  aroused  by  strange  unwonted  sounds, 
which  appeared  to  come  from  the  river;  they 
resembled  the  measured  and  repeated  soughing  of 
some  huge  beast.  Presently  he  saw  fire  approach- 
ing in  the  direction  whence  the  sounds  proceeded, 
and  he  heard  a  regular  beating  sound  upon  water, 
like  the  rapid  but  very  powerful  dash  of  oars. 
Tom  Summers  was  not  a  man  to  be  frightened,  but 
that  he  was  very  much  astonished  could  not  be 
denied.  It  soon  occurred  to  him  that  this  must  be 
one  of  those  wonderful  steamboats  of  which  he  had 
heard  rumors,  but  none  of  which  had  heretofore 
been  seen  on  the  Ohio.  On  came  the  monster, 
lashing  the  waters  to  foam,  and  breathing  fire  and 
smoke  through  iron  nostrils.  On  reaching  the 
confluence  of  the  rivers,  she  rapidly  and  gracefully 
rounded  to,  as  if  possessed  of  volition,  and  in  a  few 
minutes  more  was  lying  quietly  by  the  shore. 


32  BROUGHT   TO  BAY. 

The  strange  craft  proved  to  be  the  New  Orleans, 
the  first  steamer  ever  built  west  of  the  Alleghanies. 
She  had  been  detained  at  the  falls  of  the  Ohio 
some  time  by  low  water,  and  was  now  taking  ad- 
vantage of  a  recent  rise  in  the  stream.  As  no 
wood  was  to  be  had  along  the  river,  only  as  it  was 
cut  for  the  occasion,  she  had  landed  here  for  the 
purpose  of  cutting  dry  wood  from  piles  of  accu-mu- 
lated  drift. 

Going  aboard  the  steamer,  Summers  found  an 
old  acquaintance  in  the  person  of  Captain  Jack,  the 
pilot ;  and  although  the  boat  was  carrying  only 
freight,  he  had  no  difficulty  in  obtaining  passage  to 
New  Orleans.  His  story  was  considered  marvel- 
lous in  the  extreme ;  and  probably  nothing  but  the 
character  for  veracity  given  of  him  by  Captain 
Jack  saved  him  from  the  suspicion  of  Munchausen- 
ism,  as  all  supposed  that  the  robbers  of  Cave-in- 
Rock  had  disappeared  long  before. 

Early  on  the  next  morning  the  steamboat  started 
on  her  voyage,  making  nearly  a  hundred  miles 
before  night.  At  nightfall  a  heavy  fog  arose,  and 
it  was  determined  to  lie  by  for  the  night  at  a  small 
island,  some  distance  below  the  little  town  of  New 
Madrid  on  the  west  bank  of  the  Mississippi.  Sev- 
eral keel-boats  and  flat-boats  were  moored  to  the 
mainland  some  distance  below  the  steamer,  —  also 


CA  VE-IN-ROCK. 


33 


detained  by  the  fog.  The  early  hours  of  the  night 
were  spent  in  getting  wood  from  a  drift-pile ;  and 
as  the  fog  did  not  abate,  all  hands  then  turned  in 
for  sleep. 


CHAPTER  III. 

EARTHQUAKES. 

A  BOUT  two  o'clock  in  the  morning  after  the 
New  Orleans  was  moored  at  the  island  below 
New  Madrid,  the  sleepers  were  aroused  and  star- 
tled by  a  tremendous  shock,  which  shook  the  boat 
from  stern  to  stem,  and  filled  the  astonished  voy- 
agers with  horror.*  In  another  moment  the  river 
rushed  violently  from  beneath  the  boat,  and  the 
mud  bottom  bounded  up  against  the  frail  craft ; 
the  returning  waters  came  rushing  up  their  chan- 
nels in  huge  waves,  bearing  the  steamer  down 
the  stream  with  a  violence  which  threatened  in- 
stant destruction. 

Loud,  hissing  noises  were  heard  from  the  shore ; 
"huge  trees,  shaken  from  their  position,  tumbled 
down,  whirling  their  vast  branches  into  the  boiling 
flood.  The  boats  which  lay  further  down  the  river 
were  torn  from  their  moorings,  and  swept  with 
frightful  speed  down  the  roaring  flood ;  many  of 

*  This  account  of  the  earthquake  is  historically  true  and 
correct.     (1811.) 


EARTHQUAKES.  35 

them  were  dashed  to  fragments  against  the  shore. 
The  little  island  where  the  steamer  had  lain  burst 
asunder,  and  a  huge  column  of  sand  was  blown 
out  by  the  sulphurous  vapors  which  rushed  through 
the  vent  into  the  lurid  air.  The  wild  water-fowl 
which  had  been  sleeping  by  hundreds  in  the 
eddies,  flew  about,  shrieking  their  terror ;  and  the 
wife  and  children  of  the  captain  of  the  steamer 
joined  the  affrighted  cry. 

As  the  effects  of  the  first  shock  subsided,  all 
haste  was  made  to  raise  steam  on  board  the  boat. 
The  river  continued  to  run  in  a  direction  opposite 
to  its  usual  course ;  and  scarcely  half  an  hour 
elapsed  ere  the  agitated  earth  was  heaving  with 
another  terrible  throe.  The  second  shock,  though 
not  so  violent  as  the  first,  was  accompanied  by  an 
increase  of  horrors.  The  whole  earth  seemed  to 
be  thrown  into  progressive  waves.  Vast  fissures 
were  opened,  pouring  out  steam  and  sulphurous 
vapors,  and  —  as  it  was  afterwards  learned  —  over- 
whelming vast  bodies  of  land  with  sand.  The 
river  margin  sunk  several  feet  for  a  distance  of 
many  miles  up  and  down  the  river,  leaving  the  vil- 
lage of  New  Madrid,  formerly  high  ground,  below 
highwater  mark ;  and  a  large  district  of  the  in- 
terior suffered  similar  depression. 

Earthquake  shocks  continued  at  intervals  until 


36  BROUGHT  TO  BAY. 

morning,  when  the  steamer  continued  her  difficult 
course  down  the  river.  The  morning  was  one  of 
terrible  gloom,  and  the  atmosphere  wore  a  sulphu- 
ric hue,  as  if  sympathizing  with  the  earth.  About 
sunrise  the  Father  of  Waters  broke  down  the  bar- 
rier which  had  been  raised  by  the  upheaved  earth, 
and  came  rushing  impetuously  down,  bearing  upon 
his  waves  the  boats  which  had  escaped  the  night 
before.  The  steamer's  engine  enabled  her  to  offer 
partial  resistance  to  the  current,  but  the  flat-boats 
and  keel-boats  shot  by  like  arrows.  Several  of  them 
were  dashed  to  pieces  on  the  buried  logs  which  the 
heaving  earth  had  thrown  from  their  long  repose 
in  the  river  bottom. 

For  several  days  succeeding,  there  were  slight 
agitations  of  the  river,  indicating  that  the  earth 
had  not  yet  regained  its  quiet ;  and  on  landing  at 
the  Chalk  Banks,  it  was  learned  that  even  so  far 
from  the  centre  of  disturbance  the  shocks  had  been 
sufficiently  violent  to  excite  great  alarm.  After 
the  danger  was  apparently  past  came  the  time  for 
an  interchange  of  sentiments  and  opinions  among 
the  men  upon  the  boat,  as  she  passed  rapidly  on 
her  way  to  New  Orleans, 

"  Captain  Jack,"  said  Tom  Summers,  approach- 
ing the  pilot  with  an  expression  which  indicated  a 
much  stronger  disposition  to  express  his  own  views 


EARTHQUAKES.  37 

than  to  obtain  those  of  his  old  friend,  —  "  Captain 
Jack,  what  do  you  suppose  is  the  matter  with  the 
earth  ? " 

"  Why,  Captain  Summers,"  said  the  pilot,  "  we 
have  had  an  awful  earthquake  :  that's  all  I  know 
about  it." 

"  But  what  makes  'em  ? "  said  Tom. 

"I  don't  know,  and  I  don't  believe  anybody 
knows." 

"But,  Captain  Jack,  I  think  nothing  happens 
without  a  cause — and  earthquakes  have  a  cause. 
Now  if  this  earth  turns  round  on  her  centre  every 
twenty-four  hours,  it  must  get  on  a  strain ;  and 
it  seems  very  natural  it  should  bust  up  some- 
times." 

"  Yes,  that's  so,  Tom ;  but  why  don't  we  have 
earthquakes  all  the  time  .''" 

-  "Why  don't  the  fly-wheel  of  that  engine  bust 
up  ?  Fly-wheels  do  bust  when  we  don't  look  for  it. 
Anytfiftg  on  a  strain  must  break  sometime ;  and 
no  man  can  tell  when  it  is  coming.  I  guess  it  is 
so  with  earthquakes." 

Tom's  philosophy  brought  a  smile  from  Captain 
Jack,  and  a  laugh  from  the  men  standing  by.  But 
the  keel-boat  philosopher  continued  his  talk  all  the 
same,  reiterating  it  day  by  day. 

The  steamer  continued  on  her  novel  journey, 


38  BROUGHT  TO  BAY. 

and  reached  New  Orleans  without  further  acci- 
dent, the  tremors  of  the  earth  occurring  at  inter- 
vals, though  with  less  violence  during  the  remain- 
der of  the  voyage. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

THE     TIPPECANOE. A      CHILD's      RELIGION. THE 

CAVE. 

OOME  weeks  after  the  arrival  of  the  first  steam- 
er at  New  Orleans,  Tom  Summers  was  standing 
on  the  levee,  watching  the  approach  from  above  of 
a  large,  new,  brightly  painted  keel-boat,  which,  not 
withstanding  its  gay  color  and  the  word  "  Louis- 
iana," painted  upon  its  sides,  he  thought  closely 
resembled  a  certain  other  keel-boat  he  had  known. 
Indeed,  he  was  ready  to  "take  his  Bible  oath" 
that  the  true  name  of  the  craft  was  Tippecanoe. 
He  kept  his  own  counsel,  however,  and  awaited 
further  developments.  As  soon  as  the  boat  was 
landed,  a  gentleman  closely  wrapped  in  a  cloak 
came  off,  leading  a  young  female  whose  form  and 
face  were  also  studiously  concealed,  called  a  car- 
riage which  was  near,  and  entering  without  a 
word,  was  rapidly  driven  away.  The  curiosity  of 
Summers  prompted  him  to  watch  the  direction 
taken  by  the  carriage,  but  his  interest  in  the  keel- 
boat  interfered,  and  the  latter  feeling  prevailed. 
After  several  men  had  gone  ashore,  Tom  stepped 


40  BROUGHT  TO  BAY. 

on  board,  and  finding  the  cargo  composed  of  salt, 
corn  and  whiskey,  he  approached  the  man  who 
seemed  to  have  the  command,  and  askfed, — 

"What  is  Vincennes  whiskey  worth?" 

The  man  appeared  startled :  and  after  a  little 
hesitation  replied  that  the  whiskey  was  not  for  sale. 

"Well,  stranger,"  said  Tom,  "how  much  for 
United  States  Saline  salt  ? " 

"The  salt  is  sold,  sir,"  said  the  man. 

"Well,  mayhap  you'll  sell  that  Indian  corn.-'" 

"The  whole  cargo  is  consigned  to  a  house  in 
this  city,"  said  the  other. 

"Oh,  it  is!"  said  Tom.  "Well,  stranger,  what 
will  you  take  for  the  boat .''" 

The  man  addressed  turned  his  back  in  apparent 
confusion,  and  went  to  the  other  end  of  the  ves- 
sel, while  Tom  proceeded  into  the  city,  for  the 
purpose  of  taking  the  proper  legal  steps  to  re- 
cover his  property,  and  to  secure  the  robbers. 

An  hour  after,  when  Summers  returned  with 
the  proper  officers,  not  a  soul  was  to  be  found  on 
board.     The  birds  had  flown. 

A  few  days  sufficed  for  the  reclamation  of  his 
boat  by  legal  process,  for  the  sale  of  the  cargo, 
and  for  taking  on  board  a  load  suited  for  the  West- 
ern market.  The  word  "  Louisiana  "  was  effaced 
from  the  side  of  the  boat,  and  "  Tippecanoe  "  re- 


THE   TIPPECANOE, 


41 


Stored  to  its  wonted  place.  A  crew  of  Western 
men  was  soon  found  ;  and  Captain  Summers 
started  on  his  return  voyage  up  the  Mississippi. 

If  Tom  Summers  had  obeyed  his  curiosity 
instead  of  his  interest,  and  had  followed  the  car- 
riage which  conveyed  from  his  boat  the  myste- 
rious personages  whom  he  saw  depart,  he  might 
have  seen  them  alight  at  a  monastery  in  the  sub- 
urbs of  the  city ;  as  thither  they  went  with  all 
speed.  The  gentleman  rang  the  gate-bell,  and 
was  admitted  with  his  charge;  and  the  carriage 
was  driven  away. 

"I  have  brought  you  my  daughter,  according 
to  our  arrangement,"  said  the  man,  "and  I  confide 
her  to  your  motherly  care  and  protection.  She's 
dear  to  me  as  the  apple  of  my  eye ;  and  I  trust 
her  to  you  as  a  most  precious  jewel." 

"You  have  done  well,"  said  the  woman  ad- 
dressed, "  as  you  thereby  shut  out  the  darkness  of 
this  world,  and  let  in  the  light  of  a  better." 

"  I  leave  you  the  amount  necessary  for  six 
months,  Sister  Naomi,"  said  the  man  ;  "and  should 
you  desire  to  communicate  with  me  this  paper 
contains  my  address.  Remember !  she  writes  to 
none ;  and  no  one  outside  your  house  sees  her  but 
myself." 

The  man  kissed  his  daughter  (as  he  called  her) 


42 


BROUGHT  TO  BAY. 


with  manifest  emotion,  bade  the  good  sister  fare- 
well, and  departed. 

"What  is  your  name,  my  child?"  said  Sister 
Naomi,  as  she  removed  the  girl's  cloak  and  hood, 
and  looked  into  her  bright  blue  eyes. 

"My  name  is  Virginia  Rose,"  said  the  beautiful 
child,  "but  everybody  calls  me  'Ginia." 

"Sit  down,  my  child;  you  must  be  tired,"  said 
Sister  Naomi,  placing  a  seat  for  her.  "  How  old 
are  you,  Virginia ,-' " 

"  I  am  twelve  years  old,  ma'am ;  and  I  am  tired 
doing  nothing !" 

"Strange!"  said  the  good  Sister;  "so  old,  and 
yet  such  native  simplicity.  Have  you  ever  heard 
of  God.?" 

"  Oh,  yes ;  we  have  God  in  Illinois.  My  mother 
taught  me  to  pray  to  him." 

"And  the  Holy  Child  Jesus.?"  said  the  Sister. 

"Yes,— the  Son  of  God." 

"And  the  Holy  Mother  of  God.?"  continued 
the  Sister. 

"  My  mother  taught  me  that  God  was  the  father 
of  rt//,"  said  the  child.  "  How  could  he  have  a 
mother?" 

"Poor  child!"  said  the  good  Sister,  clasping  her 
hands  in  pity.  "  Behold  this  image  of  the  Child 
Jesus  in  the  arms  of  the  Blessed  Virgin." 


A    CHILD'S  RELIGION. 


43 


The  child  examined  the  small  sculpture  with 
a  curious  eye,  and  with  doubtful  hesitation  in- 
quired,— 

"  Do  people  pray  to  such  images  as  this  ? " 

"  They  pray  to  God  and  the  Virgin  through  their 
images,"  said  the  Sister. 

"  My  mother  taught  me  that  all  graven  images 
are  abominable,"  said  the  child. 

At  this  reply  Sister  Naomi  gave  up  the  argument 
in  despair ;  and  telling  her  charge  that  her  mother 
was  a  heretic,  ended  the  first  lesson. 

The  backwoods  girl  soon  proved  to  her  instruct- 
ors that,  instead  of  being  entirely  unlearned,  she 
had,  in  their  opinion  at  least,  learned  too  much. 
However,  as  she  was  to  remain  in  the  convent 
school,  perhaps  for  several  years.  Sister  Naomi 
hoped  that  time  and  a  rigid  discipline  would  exter- 
minate the  germs  of  a  false  religion  which  had  been 
implanted  in  her  mind  by  a  heretic  mother. 

The  sweet  and  kindly  disposition  of  Sister  Na- 
omi's beautiful  ward  soon  endeared  her  to  all  who 
had  any  intercourse  with  her.  They  told  her  that 
they  did  not  know  such  girls  as  she  grew  in  the 
woods  of  Illinois  ;  and  with  affectionate  playfulness 
asked  where  she  had  found  those  big  eyes  of  blue, 
that  golden  hair,  that  pink  and  pearl  complexion ; 
did  they  grow  on  trees  in  Illinois  "i     Especially  they 


44 


BROUGHT  TO  BAY. 


wondered  how  such  affectionate  obedience,  such 
winning  cheerfulness,  could  spring  up  "  among  the 
savages  !  "  No  bird  was  more  blithe  than  this  rosy- 
lipped  girl ;  and  her  rippling  notes  of  sweetness 
filled  all  her  words  with  melody.  Heretofore  her 
education  had  been  limited  to  the  merest  elements ; 
but  Sister  Naomi  found  the  child  so  ready  and  apt 
a  pupil  as  to  make  it  a  pleasant  task  to  give  her 
instruction ;  and  her  stay  at  the  Sisters'  school 
soon  gave  promise  of  rapid  progress  in  all  they 
essayed  to  teach  —  except  their  religion.  They 
declared  the  child  was  a  born  heretic. 

After  a  long  and  tedious  voyage  against  the 
strong  current  of  the  muddy  Mississippi,  and 
through  the  more  gentle  waters  of  the  Ohio,  Captain 
Summers  again  made  his  cable  fast  to  the  shore  in 
front  of  the  promising  village  of  Shawneetown. 
Here,  after  disposing  of  his  cargo  to  the  people  of 
the  village,  he  determined  to  enjoy  a  few  days' 
repose,  and  to  wear  the  laurels  he  had  won  by  his 
wonderful  adventures  at  Cave-in-Rock.  The  re- 
ports which  had  been  given  of  the  loss  of  the 
Tippecanoe  and  the  disappearance  of  her  captain, 
by  the  boatmen  who  had  been  on  shore  at  the 
time,  and  who  had  found  their  way  back  on  foot  by 
the  Kentucky  shore,  had  excited  the  greatest  won- 
der ;  and  Tom's  account  of  his  captivity  and  escape 


THE   CAVE. 


45 


now  had  made  him  a  hero  in  the  people's  eyes. 
His  story  was  repeated  again  and  again  in  the  little 
town  ;  and  after  a  few  days  the  excitement  ran  so 
high  that  an  expedition  was  planned  against  the 
robbers,  under  the  joint  command  of  Summers  and 
Dan  Rose,  the  frontiersmen.  Summers'  division 
was  to  consist  of  his  boat's  crew,  together  with  all 
the  boatmen  who  could  be  assembled  at  short  no- 
tice ;  these  were  to  go  in  the  Tippecanoe  by  water ; 
and  Rose  was  to  go  down  by  land  with  his  party, 
consisting  of  ten  or  twelve  white  men  and  a  few 
friendly  Indians.  Summers  made  a  rude  map, 
showing  the  position  of  the  opening  by  which  he 
escaped,  and  so  impressed  its  location  upon  the 
mind  of  Rose  that  he  felt  confident  he  could 
find  it  without  diflficulty  at  night. 

After  arranging  the  order  of  attack,  both  branches 
of  the  expedition  left  the  village  about  noon,  so  as 
to  reach  the  cave  about  midnight.  They  were  to 
communicate  with  each  other  a  mile  above  the 
cave,  where  the  Tippecanoe  was  to  land  for  the 
purpose. 

Dan  Rose  had  not  proceeded  far  with  his  com- 
mand before  he  began  to  fear  that  they  had  under- 
taken a  much  more  difficult  task  than  had  been 
imagined  ;  and  as  the  party  proceeded  he  called 
their  attention  to  the  matter  :     "  If  we  were  after 


46  BROUGHT  TO  BAY. 

twenty-  or  thirty  redskins  in  the  brush,  or  even  in 
a  swamp,"  said  Rose,  "we  should  stand  some 
chance  of  drawing  a  sight  on  them ;  but  how  are 
we  to  get  at  them  fellows  in  their  underground 
block-house  ?  Suppose  Tom  Summers  and  his 
men  should  get  possession  of  the  outer  cave,  and 
the  robbers  should  let  down  their  big  limestone 
stopper,  and  close  the  bung-hole  up  ?  No  'coon  in 
a  green  gum-tree  was  ever  safer  than  they  would 
be." 

"  Smoke  'em  out,"  said  some  one  in  reply, 

"  It  can't  be  done,"  said  Rose. 

"  Starve  'em  out,"  said  another, 

"Why,  according  to  Tom's  theory  they  have 
fodder  enough  for  a  year,"  said  Rose. 

"  Wall  'em  in,"  said  an  old  man,  who  was  a  kind 
of  jack-stonemason.  This  suggestion  was  received 
with  a  hearty  laugh  from  all  the  company. 

"  Let  us  coax  'em  out,  father,"  said  Tim  Rose  ; 
"and  when  they  vacate,  we  can  take  possession." 

"  Rather  a  bright  idea,  Tim,"  said  the  father, 
"Tom  Summers'  boat  will  make  good  bait,  and 
we'll  make  the  proposition  to  Tom  when  we  meet," 

This  was  unanimously  voted  to  be  good  policy, 
and  the  party  moved  on  with  vigor.  At  sunset 
they  had  reached  a  somewhat  noted  locality,  known 
then   and   since    as  Lead  Hill.     From  this  place 


THE  CAVE. 


47 


the  Indians  had  long  been  in  the  habit  of  procur- 
ing material  for  their  bullets,  though  the  metal 
procured  by  the  simple  process  then  in  use  among 
them,  was  a  compound  much  resembling  silver  in 
appearance.  While  crossing  over  this  rather  singu- 
lar hill,  the  party  came  upon  a  rude  furnace  for 
smelting  the  ore.  It  stood  contiguous  to  an  old 
log-hut,  which,  after  reconnoitring  and  finding  un- 
occupied, some  of  the  party  entered  and  examined. 
In  this  place  they  found  apparatus  for  coining,  and 
portions  of  the  base  metal  in  various  stages  of  prep- 
aration up  to  the  finished  "bogus"  coin.  Every- 
thing appeared  to  have  been  left  as  if  suddenly 
abandoned.  The  crucible  in  the  furnace  contained 
a  portion  of  the  reduced  ore,  and  the  fire  beneath 
appeared  to  have  burned  out  within  a  few  weeks 
for  the  want  of  some  one  to  supply  the  fuel  which 
was  lying  ready  prepared. 

"  Bogus  fact'ry,"  said  Tim. 

"  Ugh  ! "  said  the  Indians. 

"  Hush,  men,"  said  old  Dan  Rose,  "  we  are  now 
within  sound  of  their  rifles.  Nine  miles  more  will 
bring  us  to  the  cave.  Round  yonder  point  runs 
the  trail.  We  leave  that  to  the  right  and  make  for 
the  river.  Put  in  fresh  priming,  pick  your  flints, 
and  keep  a  sharp  look-out." 

The  men  were  all  too  well  trained  in  backwoods 


48  BROUGHT  TO  BAY. 

warfare  to  require  a  repetition  of  this  caution. 
They  proceeded  noiselessly  through  the  woods,  and 
reached  the  rendezvous  on  the  river  about  ten 
o'clock,  and  finding  the  Tippecanoe  not  yet  there, 
they  sat  down  and  patiently  awaited  its  arrival. 

Tom  Summers  and  his  boatmen  had  also  can- 
vassed the  probable  success  of  the  undertaking. 
Lynch,  a  Kentuckian,  who  had  joined  the  expedi- 
tion at  Shawneetown,  swore  that  "  five  good  rifle- 
men from  *  Kentuck '  could  defend  the  cave  against 
all  creation." 

After  many  opinions,  pro  and  con,  Summers 
suggested  that  by  keeping  the  robbers  from  the 
river  in  front,  they  might  be  picked  off  with  a  rifle 
as  they  attempted  to  obtain  water  from  the  rear  of 
the  cavern  where  he  had  made  his  escape.  This 
was  considered  at  least  plausible  by  all  hands. 

Tom  Summers  was  a  native  politician,  and  when 
the  mode  of  attacking  the  cave  was  settled  he  intro- 
duced the  new  kind  of  boats  as  a  subject  of  conver- 
sation, and  finally  propounded  his  ideas  of  "  co'pora- 
tion,"  —  a  favorite  subject  of  discussion  with  him. 

"  I'm  agin  these  smoke-boats,"  said  Tom. 

"What's  agin  'em.-*"  asked  one  of  the  company. 

"  What's  agin  'em }  Everything  is  agin  'em. 
What  chance  will  a  good,  old-fashioned  keel  have 
agin  these  porposes  .''  " 


THE   CAVE, 


49 


"  Well,  but  Tom,  ain't  they  good  for  the  coun- 
try?" 

"Ain't  we  a  part  of  the  country? "  replied  Tom, 
"'Tain't  no  justice  to  ruin  one  class  of  men  for  the 
sake  of  another  class." 

"  Them's  my  sentiments  ezactly,"  said  a  Ten- 
nessean. 

"Well,  Tom,"  said  Lynch,  "we  will  all  have  to 
build  steamboats,  that's  all.  Good  bye,  settin' 
pole ! " 

"  Can  yoii  afford  to  build  one  ? "  said  Tom. 
"  Can  I  ?  No,  these  things  cost  too  much  money, 
and  they  must  be  built  by  these  blasted  co'pora- 
tions." 

"What's  your  objection  to  co'porations,  Tom?" 

" '  Cause  they  have  no  souls,  nor  bodies  either 
to  signify ;  sue  one  of  them  for  an  honest  debt  and 
it  ain't  thar.  The  conipajiy  hasn't  got  anything, 
though  every  man  of  it  has  his  pocket  full  of  Span- 
ish dollars.  But  that's  private  property,  they  say. 
Ain't  they  the  men  that  made  the  debt  ?  and  don't 
all  the  profits  go  into  their  private  pockets  ?  Let 
'em  be  made  to  pay  their  debts  out  of  their  private 
pockets.     Then  I'm  agin  the  whole  breed." 

"  Them's  my  sentiments,  ezactly,"  said  the  Ten- 
nessean. 

"  Captain   Summers,"   interposed    Lynch,    who 


50 


BROUGHT  TO  BAY. 


was  at  the  helm,  "  yonder  is  the  mouth  of  the 
Saline ;  hadn't  we  better  land,  and  lie  by  till  ten 
or  'leven  o'clock  ?  " 

**  Good  idea,  Lynch  ;  throw  her  bow  in  and  let 
her  come  round." 

The  boat  was  accordingly  brought  to  shore, 
where  she  remained  until  about  ten  o'clock,  when 
she  was  to  be  dropped  down  to  the  place  of  rendez- 
vous, a  mile  above  the  cave. 

While  Summers  and  his  men  are  waiting  for  the 
time  to  arrive,  let  us  describe  the  good  keel-boat 
Tippecanoe,  and  the  class  to  which  she  belonged, 
and  something  of  the  race  of  hardy  boatmen  who 
are  unknown  to  the  present  generation. 

In  general  appearance,  the  keel-boats  of  sixty 
years  ago  resembled  the  more  modern  canal-boat. 
The  keel  was  very  long  and  very  narrow,  and  so 
shaped  as  to  combine  the  greatest  floating  capacity 
with  the  least  resistance  to  the  water.  The  bow 
was  rather  sharp  and  considerably  greater  in  length 
than  breadth ;  but  the  curvature  was  soon  lost  in 
parallel  sides  which  continued  equidistant  the  entire 
length  of  the  boat.  The  stem  resembled  the  bow, 
but  as  a  rule,  was  less  sharp.  The  hull  was  so 
placed  upon  this  keel  as  to  expose  some  twelve  or 
fourteen  inches  of  the  keel  on  each  side  of  the 
boat,  running  its  entire  length.     These  projecting 


THE   CAVE. 


51 


sides  rose  but  little  above  the  water,  were  planked 
over,  and  "cleated"  with  cross  foot-holds  for  the 
boatmen,  who  propelled  the  boat  by  placing  their 
"setting  poles"  upon  the  river  bottom  near  the 
stem  of  the  boat,  fixing  one  end  against  the 
shoulder  and  pushing  the  boat  from  under  them 
as  they  walked  towards  the  stern.  The  men  upon 
the  opposite  sides  worked  in  pairs,  so  that  an  even 
pressure  was  maintained  on  both  sides  of  the  boat. 
But  in  the  deep  and  turbid  waters  of  the  Missis- 
sippi, the  setting  pole  was  not  available.  There 
the  "cordell"  took  the  place  of  the  pole.  This 
was  a  long,  light  rope,  which  was  generally  used 
by  fastening  it  to  some  tree  or  other  firm  body  as 
far  above  as  the  cordell  would  reach,  and  then  pull- 
ing on  the  other  end  in  the  boat.  It  was  slow  and 
laborious  work,  and  it  required  several  months  of 
this  arduous  toil  to  propel  a  keel-boat  from  New 
Orleans  to  the  mouth  of  the  Ohio  River. 

The  hull  of  the  keel-boat  looked  somewhat  like 
the  modern  ironclad  gun-boats,  but  was  less  acute 
in  the  angle  of  its  sides.  On  each  side,  near  the 
centre  was  a  large  sliding  door  for  convenience  in 
loading  and  unloading,  and  on  top  a  hatchway,  by 
which  the  boatmen  communicated  with  the  in- 
terior. The  rudder,  at  the  stern,  had  its  steering 
arm  extended  along  near  the   deck,  so  that  the 


52 


BROUGHT  TO  BAY. 


steersman  generally  guided  the  boat  with  the  lever 
between  his  knees. 

But  the  Tippecanoe  was  almost  an  exception 
among  keel-boats.  She  had  been  built  at  Vin- 
cennes  under  Summers'  own  supervision,  and  with 
all  the  improvements  which  had  been  suggested  to 
him  by  his  long  experience  and  practical  good 
sense.  It  was  no  ordinary  event  for  the  little 
town,  when  the  Tippecanoe,  named  from  the  then 
recent  battle  between  the  Indians  and  General 
Harrison,  started  on  her  long  voyage  to  New 
Orleans,  with  Tom  Summers  in  command,  and 
the  boatmen  singing  the  well-known  refrain  :  — 

"  Hard  upon  the  hickory  oar, 
She  moves  too  slow; 
Time  we  were  at  Shawneetown, 
Long  time  ago." 

On  reaching  the  place  of  rendezvous.  Summers 
found  Dan  Rose  and  his  men  in  waiting.  After 
some  conference  between  the  parties,  it  was  decided 
that,  as  the  night  was  dark,  it  would  be  necessary 
for  Summers  to  go  with  the  land  party,  to  avoid 
the  danger  of  not  being  able  to  find  the  rear  open- 
ing to  the  cavern.  Lynch  therefore  took  command 
of  the  boat ;  and  after  giving  the  land  party  half 
an  hour's  start,  the  Tippecanoe  was  put  into  the 
current  and  permitted  to  float. 


THE   CAVE. 


53 


When  the  shore  party  reached  the  vicinity  of 
the  cave,  Summers  was  perplexed  to  find  that  what 
he  had  described  as  a  hill  in  the  rear  of  the  cavern 
now  appeared  to  be  a  hollow  or  depression,  as  com- 
pared with  the  ground  around  it.  No  fissure  in 
the  rock  was  to  be  found,  and  the  whole  contour  of 
the  surface  appeared  to  be  changed.  He  first 
thought  he  must  have  missed  the  locality.  But 
one  of  the  Indians  declared  that  there  used  to  be  a 
hill,  and  an  opening  in  the  rock  at  that  very  spot. 
A  messenger  was  sent  around  to  communicate  with 
the  other  party.  He  returned  with  word  that  the 
cave  was  deserted.  The  party  from  the  boat  had 
cautiously  landed  some  distance  above,  and  now 
had  possession  of  the  outer  cavern. 

Rose  and  his  men  joined  the  others  in  the  cave, 
and  proceeded  to  examine  it  by  the  light  of  the 
torches,  which  were  already  burning. 

Boxes  and  barrels  were  lying  around,  very  much 
as  Summers  had  seen  them  before.  But  they  did 
not  appear  to  have  been  in  any  manner  disturbed 
for  a  considerable  length  of  time.  The  central 
opening,  which  communicated  with  the  rooms  above, 
was  not  closed  ;  the  heavy  stone  which  Summers 
had  seen  hanging  over  it  appeared  to  have  fallen, 
and  was  lying  at  one  side  of  the  opening.  The 
large  basket,  which  had  been  used  for  ascending 


54 


BROUGHT  TO  BAY. 


and  descending,  was  hanging  from  its  suspending 
pulley  above.  Summers  seized  the  rope  and  was 
about  to  climb,  but  one  of  the  Indians  called  him 
back,  and  placing  a  hat  and  coat  upon  a  pole  thrust 
them  up  through  the  opening.  He  had  supposed 
that  they  might  be  fired  on  ;  but  all  was  silence. 

Tom  now  boldly  entered  the  opening,  torch  in 
hand,  followed  by  Rose,  Tim,  Lynch,  and  others. 
The  mouldy  remnants  of  a  feast  which  had  never 
been  eaten  were  lying  upon  a  table  ;  lamps  were 
hanging  around,  burnt  out  for  want  of  oil ;  and  a 
tray  of  glasses  filled  with  untasted  wine  was  on  a 
small  stand !  But  the  avenues  which  had  led  to 
the  inner  cavern  had  disappeared.  The  rock  had 
fallen  from  above  in  vast  masses,  and  closed  all 
connection  between  the  cave  and  the  outer  world 
forever.  Perhaps  in  the  midst  of  gay  festivity, 
perhaps  in  the  hour  of  music  and  dancing !  Who 
could  say  .-*     Not  a  soul  was  left  to  tell  the  tale. 

The  men  who  had  come  to  execute  vengeance 
could  not  now  avoid  sympathy  for  the  dead.  He 
who  hath  said  "  Vengeance  is  mine,"  had  sent  the 
earthquake  to  do  His  will,  and  these  hardy  men  felt 
that  tjiey  were  in  the  presence  of  Eternal  Justice. 
They  left  the  sparkling  wine  untouched  in  the 
glasses,  and  descended  to  the  room  below.  Here 
they  secured  such  articles  as  were  of  value  ;  and 


THE   CAVE. 


55 


putting  them  on  board  the  Tippecanoe,  prepared  to 
return  in  the  morning  to  Shawneetown.  • 

Next  day,  bright  and  early,  the  boat  was  stem- 
ming the  current  of  the  Ohio.  The  river  was  at 
such  a  stage  as  to  render  the  setting-pole  of  little 
value,  and  recourse  was  had  to  the  cordell.  A 
long  line  was  sent  ashore  and  made  fast  to  a  tree 
at  its  full  length  above  the  boat ;  and  then  by  dint 
of  vigorous  pulling  at  the  other  end  by  the  men  on 
board,  the  boat  was  brought  up  to  the  point  of 
attachment,  made  fast,  and  the  rope  sent  ahead  to 
another  tree,  as  before.  Occasional  help  from  the 
setting-pole,  the  number  of  men  on  board,  and  the 
absence  of  lading,  made  the  labor  comparatively 
easy  ;  and  the  Tippecanoe  landed  at  Shawneetown 
before  sunset. 


CHAPTER   V. 

GOVERNMENT    AT    THE    CIRCUMFERENCE.  — 
DIVIDED     COUNSELS. 

/^N  the  night  after  the  return  of  the  Tippeca- 
noe, Summers,  Lynch,  the  Roses,  and  others 
of  the  late  expedition,  together  with  several  of  the 
good  people  of  the  village,  were  collected  at  W'll- 
son's  tavern  to  relate  or  to  listen  to  the  news  of 
the  day,  and,  some  of  them  at  least,  to  partake  of 
the  landlord's  Vincennes  whiskey, 

Tom  Summers  was  by  common  consent  per- 
mitted to  give  "  official "  account  of  the  recent  ex- 
pedition to  Cave-in-rock.  Of  course  the  story  was 
well  told.  He  had  not  been  with  the  land  party 
however ;  and  when  Tim  Rose  exhibited  a  coun- 
terfeit dollar  from  Lead  Hill,  as  a  sort  of  text  to 
his  discourse,  Tom  was  compelled  reluctantly  to 
hold  his  peace.  After  both  had  told  their  stories 
and  answered  the  inquiries  which  arose,  the  con- 
versation turned  upon  the  subject  of  war  with 
England,  a  declaration  of  which  was  now  confi- 
dently looked  for. 

"Captain  Summers,  what  do  you  expect  about 


DIVIDED  COUNSELS. 


57 


the  war?"  said  a  Tennessee  boatman  mentioned 
in  a  former  chapter. 

"  I  expect  that  the  sooner  it  comes,  the  better," 
said  Tom. 

"Them's  my  sentiments  ezactly,"  said  the  Ten- 
nessean. 

"I'm  agin  the  British  havin'  Canada,"  said  Tom. 
"  It's  a  splendid  country,  and  ought  to  belong  to 
us  ;  and  if  Jim  Madison  will  kick  up  a  war  instead 
of  making  embargoes  on  trade,  we'll  have  it." 

"  Ezactly,"  responded  the  Tennessean. 

Summers  was  so  well  pleased  with  his  own  pat- 
riotism that  he  paused  to  order  Mr.  Wilson  to 
"treat  the  whole  company  "  at  his  expense.  Mr. 
Wilson  was  disposed  to  draw  Summers  out  far- 
ther ;  and  as  he  filled  the  glasses  with  green  Vin- 
cennes  whiskey,  he  turned  to  Tom  and  said  : — 

"Isn't  there  danger  of  our  country  getting  to 
be  too  large.  Captain  Summers  .-*" 

"Too  large!"  replied  Tom.  "It  can't  get  too 
large,  'cause  its  strength  is  in  the  circumference. 
Monarchies  git  too  large,  'cause  the  strength's  is 
all  in  the  centre.  I  expect  this  nation  to  cover  all 
creation,  some  day,  'cause  it's  just  naturally  bound 
to  spread  out." 

"Then,"  said  Lynch,  "  Kaintuck  will  be  right  in 
the  centre  of  the  earth  —  Hurrah!" 


58  BROUGHT  TO  BAY. 

"Then  there  won't  be  any  centre,"  said  Tom. 
"The  people  are  the  government.  The  people 
will  be  everywhere,  and  in  course  there  can't  be 
any  centre." 

This  proposition  was  rather  too  metaphysical 
for  most  of  Tom's  hearers  ;  but  the  Tennessee 
boatman  thought  he  understood  it  perfectly ;  so 
he  assented  as  usual : — 

"Ezactly;  them's  my  sentiments." 

Tom  Summers  continued:  — 

"There  won't  be  a  centre  for  another  reason : 
There  won't  be  any  standin'  army.  In  a  mon- 
archy, the  standin'  army  is  the  centre  of  gover'- 
ment ;  but  here  the  people  is  the  army,  and  they 
will  be  everywhere;  and  in  course,  then,  there 
can't  be  any  centre." 

"Ezactly,"  was  the  response. 

"Boys,  take  a  little  more!"  exclaimed  Tom. 

"Them's  my  sentiments,"  said  the  Tennessean, 
at  the  same  time  swallowing  his  second  glass  of 
Vincennes. 

The  conversation  now  turned  upon  the  lost 
daughter  of  Mrs.  Freeman.  "How  about  that 
child.''"  said  Summers,  addressing  Dan  Rose. 
"We  started  in  such  a  hurry  after  them  Cave-in-rock 
gentry  that  I  never  got  time  to  ask  how  the  gal 
got  lost.     What  do  you  suppose  became  of  her } " 


DIVIDED   COUNSELS. 


59 


"I  have  my  own  suspicions,"  said  the  old  man, 
"  but  it  will  never  do  to  tell  Katy.  She  is  near 
enough  crazy  now." 

"Think  that  man,  Freeman,  got  her?"  inquired 
Tom. 

Rose  slowly  shook  his  head,  but  made  no  reply. 

"Dan  Rose,"  said  Tom,  "let  me  tell  you  some- 
thing. Are  you  sure  Freeman  went  home  to 
Kaintuck.'' " 

"  Oh,  yes,"  said  Tim,  taking  up  the  answer.  "  I 
overhauled  him  way  above  the  Wabash,  making 
for  Limestone  fast  as  his  niggers  could  take  him. 
'  Ginia  wasn't  with  him,  sure." 

"Well,  I'll  bet  he  took  her  to  Orleans,"  said 
Tom  ;  "  and  on  that  very  boat  down  there,  at  the 
landin'.  When  them  Cave-in-Rock  men  landed 
her  at  Orleans,  the  first  man  as  stepped  on  shore 
was  wrapped  all  up  in  a  cloak,  and  was  leading  a 
little  gal  by  the  hand.  They  got  into  a  carriage, 
and  drove  off  like  a  hurricane." 

"What  sort  of  a  looking  little  gal  was  it.'*" 
asked  Tim. 

"  Could'nt  see  her  face,  Tim,  —  all  wrapped  up 
in  shawls  and  veils." 

"  Father,"  said  Tim,  "  that  child  is  in  Orleans. 
I  always  thought  that  Tom  Freeman  had  got  her, 
somehow :  now  I  know  it."     Then  he  added,  "  If 


6o  BROUGHT  TO  BAY. 

Freeman's  about  Limestone,  I'll  know  it.  If  he 
isn't  I'll  know  that." 

Tim's  revolution  was  taken.  He  determined  to 
make  a  trip  to  Limestone,  and  learn  whether  Free- 
man really  returned  directly  home  or  not. 

"  You  will  waste  your  time,  Tim,"  said  the  fath- 
er, sadly.  "  Tom  Freeman  is  no  doubt  at  home, 
and  knows  no  more  about  the  gal  than  you  do. 
But  go  if  you  please.  " 

"Come,  boys,"  said  Captain  Summers,  "let's  go 
aboard:  it's  time  to  turn  in." 

"  Ezactly,"  said  the  assenting  Tennessean,  And 
the  company  dispersed  for  the  night. 

Next  morning,  when  Katy  Freeman  heard  of 
Summers's  story  about  the  persons  whom  he  saw 
leave  his  boat  in  the  carriage,  the  half-closed 
wounds  in  her  mother-heart  were  opened  afresh. 
She  had  become  assured  that  Freeman  had  not  the 
child.  And  although  it  had  been  intimated  that 
by  bare  possibility  the  child  might  have  been  stolen 
by  Indians,  she  rejected  this  alternative  as  im- 
possible. Since  the  battle  of  Tippecanoe  in  the 
preceding  November,  some  bands  of  savages  had 
evaded  the  rangers,  stolen  some  horses  from  the 
Salt  Works,  and  murdered  a  whole  family,  some 
miles  down  the  river.  But  she  considered  the 
stealing  of  her  child  from  her  side  a  feat  impossible 


DIVIDED   COUNSELS.  6l 

even  to  Indians,  and  had  recently  settled  down  in 
the  belief  that  'Ginia  must  have  gone  out  unper- 
ceived  for  a  ramble  on  the  river  bank,  fallen  in, 
and  drowned. 

It  was  now  probable,  however,  that  her  daughter 
was  not  only  alive,  but  imprisoned  and  ill  treated, 
in  a  far-off  city.  The  thought  was  agony,  and  she 
gave  way  to  her  feelings  in  a  flood  of  tears. 

Her  father  attempted  to  calm  her  sorrow  and 
restrain  her  tears. 

"  Katy,"  said  the  old  man,  "  there's  no  use  cryin'. 
God  will  take  care  of  the  little  girl.  The  child  has 
given  you  a  heap  o'  trouble  always,  Katy  ;  and  now 
Providence  has  taken  her  away.  There's  no  use 
cryin',  Katy." 

The  tears  fell  all  the  faster.  The  old  mother 
then  tendered  her  kind  offices. 

"  Katy,  my  daughter,  I  loved  my  children  as 
nobody  but  a  mother  could  :  I  saw  Sam  and  Johnny 
shot  down  dead  before  my  eyes  by  the  Indians. 
But  I  never  shed  a  tear." 

"  O  mother,"  said  Katy,  "  if  I  knew  my  child 
was  dead  I  think  it  would  be  a  consolation.  But 
there  is  a  mysterious  and  tender  tie  that  binds  me 
to  her,  and  tells  me  she  is  still  alive.  For  months 
and  years  I  have  lived  only  in  'Ginia ;  and  I  still 
feel  it  in  my  heart  that  she  is  alive  and  suffering." 


62  BROUGHT  TO  BAY. 

"Tut,  tut,  Katy,"  said  the  old  man.  "For  a 
girl  who  has  been  raised  on  the  frontier,  as  you 
have,  you  talk  real  strange.  A  woman's  child  is 
no  more  than  any  other  little  one  she's  nursed  and 
loved.  A  woman  wouldn't  know  her  own  child  any 
more'n  an  animal.  I  remember  a  hen  that  hatched 
an  eagle's  ^g^,  and  clucked  kindly  to  the  young  one 
'till  it  tore  her  eyes  out." 

"  Father,"  responded  Katy,  "  don't  talk  so ! 
Often  as  my  child  was  stolen,  long  as  she  was  from 
my  sight,  I  never  for  a  moment  forgot  her  cry ;  I 
would  know  it  in  darkness  and  in  blindness.  I 
know  the  sweet  odor  of  her  breath ;  I  knew  her 
peculiar  and  gentle  touch  upon  my  cheek  ;  I  know 
her  gentle  breathing,  unlike  any  other's.  Could  I 
forget  her  sweet  prattle  as  she  grew,  or  when  she 
first  lisped  the  name  of  mother.?  And  when  she 
walked  alone  ! — no  other  child  had  just  the  step  of 
'Ginia.  None  but  her  mother  could  love  her  or 
mourn  for  her  as  I  do." 

After  a  moment,  she  said,  "  Now  I  feel  that 
there's  some  kind  of  connection  between  that  myste- 
rious memorandum  found  upon  Captain  Summers's 
boat  and  my  lost  child:  ^Angela  zuith  the  black 
woman;  known  only  as  Virginia:  Limestone  to 
Shawneetown ;'  what  can  this  mean  but  my 
'Ginia.?" 


DIVIDED   COUNSELS.  63 

"O  Katy,"  replied  her  father,  "that  is  a  mere 
coincidence.  What  did  Summers's  strange  passen- 
ger know  of  your  child?" 

Katy's  father  had  already  considered  this  memo- 
randum, and  did  not  feel  quite  sure  it  was  a  mere 
coincidence ;  but  as  it  gave  no  clue  to  the  lost 
child,  he  thought  best  to  make  light  of  it. 

"Well,  well,  Katy,"  said  the  old  man,  after  a 
time,  "  there's  reason  in  all  things.  Dry  your  eyes. 
Your  brother  Tim  is  going  to  take  another  hunt  for 
the  child ;  and  if  'Ginia  is  to  be  found  this  side  o' 
the  grave,  Tim  will  find  her." 

"It's  very  kind  of  brother  Tim,"  answered  Katy, 
"but  he  will  not  find  her.  I  was  too  happy  —  too 
happy  —  with  Freeman  away  and  'Ginia  by  me 
always.  Oh,  I  was  too  happy !  And  yet  I  fondly 
thought  it  might  last  always,  and  that  I  might 
always  hear  my  merry  bird  about  me,  and  look 
down  into  her  heart  through  her  clear  blue  eyes. 
Oh!  'Ginia,  my  lost  'Ginia!" 

A  fresh  burst  of  tears  seemed  to  relieve  her  for 
a  moment,  when  she  resumed,  in  a  low,  subdued 
tone, — 

"  I  could  have  borne  the  long  years  of  coldness 
and  abuse, — the  suspicion,  the  falsehood,  the  worse 
than  brutal  cruelty ;  I  could  have  borne  to  be  the 
widow  of  a  living  husband ;  I  could  have  borne  the 


64  BROUGHT   TO  BAY. 

cruel  robbery  of  my  child,  sore  and  repeated  afflic- 
tion as  it  was ;  and  I  could  almost  forgive  it  all  for 
the  depth  of  maternal  love  which  it  kindled  and  re- 
kindled, brighter  and  brighter,  in  my  heart.  Oh, 
I  could  have  borne  all  these  if  I  might  at  last 
possess  my  heart's  jewel  in  safety.  But  this  was 
not  for  me.  My  cup  of  bitterness  was  not  yet  full. 
May  the  God  of  the  widow  and  the  orphan  enable 
me  to  bear  my  fate ! " 

A  low  "Amen!"  passed  from  the  lips  of  her 
mother;  and  the  weeper  was  left  alone  to  the 
soothing  influence  of  tears. 

In  the  early  part  of  the  ensuing  day  two  keel- 
boats  were  seen  coming  around  the  point  of  land 
at  the  bend  of  the  river  below  the  village,  and  Tim 
Rose  made  ready  to  depart,  intending  to  obtain  a 
passage  upon  one  of  the  boats.  It  was  possible  to 
see  an  approaching  boat  several  miles  down  the 
river  from  the  bank  at  the  landing  ;  and  while  Tim 
was  waiting,  an  old  slave,  who  had  been  in  the 
family  for  many  years,  and  who  had  formerly  be- 
longed to  Freeman,  took  occasion  to  call  Tim  aside, 
and  speak  to  him  on  the  subject  of  his  proposed 
journey. 

"  Massa  Tim,  you  gwine  all  de  way  back  to  de 
ole  place  for  nothin'." 


DIVIDED   COUNSELS.  6$ 

"Why,  Aunt  Tabby,"  said  Tim,  "how  do  you 
know  that  ? " 

"I  knows  it,  MassaTim  ;  I  dreamt  Missus'  child 
was  dead,  dat  berry  night  it  was  tuk  away." 

"But,  Aunt  Tabby,  I  don't  believe  in  dreams." 

"  I  jest  know  Miss  Katy's  child's  dead,"  said  the 
negress. 

"  Why,  what  do  you  mean.  Tab,  talkin'  that 
way  .-• "  said  Tim,  with  a  stern  look  of  inquiry  into 
the  face  of  the  slave. 

"  I  doesn't  mean  nuffin,  Massa  Tim,"  said  the 
woman,  "but  when  Aunt  Tabby  dreams,  she 
dreams." 

The  old  creature  had  never  been  suspected  of 
knowing  anything  of  the  lost  child  ;  but  from  this 
moment  Tim  believed  she  knew  the  cause  and  the 
manner  of  'Ginia's  disappearance.  The  woman 
had  been  employed  by  Freeman  to  take  care  of  the 
child,  on  those  occasions  when  he  had  stolen  it 
from  its  mother.  And  Tim  now  suspected  that 
Freeman  must  somehow  have  secured  her  aid  in 
getting  'Ginia  away.  The  more  he  thought  of  this 
the  more  plausible  it  appeared.  How  could  the 
girl  have  been  taken  out  of  the  house,  but  by  the 
aid  of  some  one  in  it  ?  And  then  Tabby's  anxiety 
to  have  him  give  up  his  expedition,  —  how  was 
this  to  be  accounted  for  otherwise } 


^  BROUGHT  TO  BAY. 

The  boats  had  now  reached  the  landing,  and  as 
Tim  was  more  than  ever  determined  to  hunt  up 
Freeman,  he  went  immediately  on  board  and  ob- 
tained a  passage  to  Limestone. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

A    PERPLEXED    FRENCHMAN.  A    RESCUE.  BACK- 
WOODS   SURGERY. 

'T^HE  journey  of  Tim  Rose  to  Limestone  and 
back  consumed  a  month.  He  found  Freeman 
at  home,  and  learned  with  certainty  that  he  had 
returned  directly  there,  after  his  visit  to  Shawnee- 
town,  and  that  he  brought  no  one  back  with  him 
but  his  own  negroes.  Giving  up  the  search  in  that 
direction  as  hopeless,  he  hastened  his  return  to 
Shawneetown.  At  Cincinnati  he  learned  that  war 
had  been  declared  against  England,  and  he  was  the 
first  to  bring  the  intelligence  to  the  towns  below. 

When  Tim's  failure  to  learn  anything  of  the  lost 
Virginia  at  Limestone  was  known,  it  excited  but 
little  surprise.  None  of  the  family  had  any  con- 
fident hope  of  his  success.  Old  Tabby  could  not 
refrain  from  indulging  in  an  "  I  told  you  so,  Massa 
Tim  !  "  So  she  had,  truly.  But  tJien  Tim  thought 
she  did  so  from  design  :  now  he  attributed  it  to  her 
superstitious  belief  in  dreams. 

The  news  of  the  declaration  of  war  was  received 


68  BROUGHT  TO  BAY. 

with  satisfaction,  and  even  with  gratification  by 
the  people  of  the  town,  and  indeed,  throughout  the 
territory.  It  was  thought  that  it  could  not  make 
matters  any  worse,  and  in  the  end  must  make  them 
better.  The  Indians  on  the  Illinois  River  and  on 
the  Upper  Mississippi  had  long  been  hostile,  and 
were  committing  acts  of  rapine  and  murder  daily  ; 
and  it  was  supposed  that  the  declaration  of  war 
would  compel  them  to  throw  off  their  disguise,  and 
join  the  standard  of  one  or  the  other  of  the  parties. 
It  would  also  compel  the  general  government  to 
extend  protection  to  the  West,  where  the  people 
despairing  of  legal  protection  in  many  instances, 
had  taken  the  matter  into  their  own  hands. 

The  military  spirit  was  aroused  throughout  the 
territory.  Companies  of  "  rangers,"  chiefly  com- 
posed of  volunteers,  were  formed,  and  were  soon 
scouring  the  country  in  various  directions,  on  the 
Illinois  and  Sangamon  rivers,  and  through  the  in- 
terior from  the  Wabash  to  the  Mississippi.  Dan 
Rose  put  himself  at  the  head  of  a  small  company 
of  volunteers,  and  undertook  to  drive  off  a  band 
of  hostile  Indians  which  had  been  prowling  about, 
occasionally  visiting  the  settlements  in  the  south- 
ern part  of  the  territory,  and  committing  frequent 
robberies  and  occasional  murders. 

In  the  company  of  Dan   Rose,  besides  ten  or 


A   PERPLEXED  FRENCHMAN. 


69 


twelve  experienced  backwoods  riflemen,  there 
were  three  or  four  boatmen,  —  inckiding  Summers, 
Lynch,  and  the  Tennessean  already  known  to  the 
reader,  —  and  a  negro  belonging  to  Rose.  Tim 
Rose  declined  going ;  he  had  devoted  himself  to 
the  continued  search  for  his  sister's  daughter,  and 
had  determined  to  visit  New  Orleans  for  that  pur- 
pose. 

In  less  than  a  week  after  the  news  of  the  decla- 
ration of  war  had  arrived.  Rose  and  his  men  were 
equipped  with  everything  necessary,  armed  with 
the  deadly  backwoods  rifle  and  the  hunting-knife, 
and  on  their  way  in  search  of  the  savages.  In 
frontier  countries,  the  departure  of  such  a  band,  on 
such  an  expedition,  was  an  event  which  interested 
the  whole  community.  There  was  hardly  a  family 
which  had  not  at  least  a  dear  friend,  if  not  a  father 
or  a  brother  in  that  little  band.  No  wonder,  then, 
that  there  was  a  general  turn-out  of  the  villagers 
to  witness  the  departure.  Mr.  Wilson,  the  patriotic 
landlord,  knocked  in  the  head  of  a  barrel  of  whis- 
key, the  universal  promoter  of  good  feeling,  and 
also  of  some  not  quite  so  good,  and  bade  the  volun- 
teers drink  "  to  the  destruction  of  redcoats  and 
redskins."  It  was  the  universal  rule  for  men  on 
such  expeditions  to  take  no  spirits  with  them 
(unless  for  medicine),  and  the  Rangers  did  ample 


70  BROUGHT  TO  BAY. 

justice  to  Mr.  Wilson's  Vincennes,  as  being  the  last 
they  would  get  for  some  time. 

At  the  close  of  the  first  day,  Captain  Rose's 
company  had  reached  the  Salt  Works,  where  they 
proposed  to  spent  the  night.  Here  the  expedition 
was  joined  by  a  very  valuable  little  Frenchman 
named  Lesure.  He  had  been  for  years  engaged 
about  the  Salt  Works,  and  took  extreme  pleasure 
in  detailing  various  incidents  in  their  history. 
During  the  early  part  of  the  night  the  men  were 
gathered  about  the  furnace  fires,  roasting  corn, 
which  was  just  then  "in  the  milk,"  and  made  a 
pleasant  and  wholesome  food.  Lesure  sat  down 
in  their  midst  and  talked  for  hours. 

"  You  see.  Captain  Rose,"  said  he,  "we  do  ver' 
leetel  like  de  peoples  do.  Ven  dey  makes  de  vit- 
tal  cook,  dey  poot  de  wood  to  de  fire  ;  but  ven  we 
makes  de  salt  cook,  de  fire  must  be  poot  to  de 
wood,  eh  .''  you  see  .■'  " 

"  You  move  your  furnace  from  place  to  place, 
wherever  there  is  plenty  of  wood,"  responded 
Rose. 

"  Yes,  sare,  captain,  ver'  good,  ver'  good  !  Hah, 
ha!  And  we  put  de  —  de  —  saline  watare  into 
one  leetel  log,  and  bring  him  to  the  fire.  I  tell 
you  one  ver'  good  joke,  captain,  'bout  dat  leetel 
log.      Long   time    'go,    one    Frenchman   and   one 


A    PERPLEXED   FRENCHMAN. 


71 


Yankee  cook  de  salt  here.  Frenchman  'way  up 
dare,  half  mile ;  Yankee  down  dare,  half  mile. 
Frenchman  dig  ver'  deep  well ;  find  plenty  saline 
watare ;  make  good  pump ;  put  on  two  horse  to  pump 
him,  and  put  one  leetel  log  down  to  his  furnace  to 
bring  de  watare.  Yankee  dig  well  too  ;  put  on  pump, 
and  make  de  one  horse  pump  him,  and  put  leetel 
log  down  to  his  furnace  to  bring  de  watare.  Ver' 
well  :  Frenchman's  two  horses  work  ver'  hard,  his 
pump  work  ver'  good  ;  but  de  leetel  log  bring  only 
one  ver'  leetel  watare,  like  my  fingare.  Ah,  ha ! 
By  gar !  what  is  the  mattare  .-•  Frenchman  look  at 
de  leetel  log  all  over  ;  leetel  log  not  spill  de  watare 
anywhere.  Frenchman  ver'  moche  surprise.  Put 
two  more  horses  to  de  pump,  all  the  same.  De 
leetel  log  not  pour  out  all  de  watare,  only  big  as 
my  fingare.  Frenchman  bear  him  long  time,  — 
six  months,  —  twelve  months.  Then  he  go  and 
see  Yankee's  pump  :  one  horse  pump  a  leetel 
watare,  big  as  my  fingare,  den  he  leetel  astonish  : 
go  to  de  Yankee's  furnace,  Yankee  cook  heap  a' 
salt,  and  he  leetel  log  run  out  big  stream.  Den 
Frenchman  ver'  moche  astonish.  Den  he  get  mad, 
and  tear  up  de  leetel  log  from  de  pump  to  the  fur- 
nace.    By  gar  !  what  you  think .-' " 

The  captain  gave  no  answer,  however,  for  the 
very  good  reason  that  he  was  fast  asleep. 


72 


BROUGHT   TO   BAY. 


"  What  j/ou  tink  ? "  he  continued,  now  addressing 
Lynch,  who  was  still  awake. 

"  I  think  it  beats  old  Kaintuck,"  said  Lynch. 

"  My  sentiments,"  said  the  Tennessee  boatman. 

"  I  tell  you  what  you  tink,"  said  Lesure.  "  De 
Frenchman's  leetel  log  and  de  Yankee's  leetel  log 
run  cross,  like  dis,"  holding  up  his  fingers,  one 
across  the  other.  "  De  Frenchman's  log  was  on 
top  de  Yankee's  log ;  and  by  gar !  dere  was  one 
big  hole  bore  from  Frenchman's  log !  De  Yankee 
was  too  moche  for  de  Frenchman.  He  make  de 
Frenchman's  four  bosses  pump  watare  for  him, 
while  his  one  boss  pump  for  de  Frenchman ! 
What  you  tink  ?  " 

By  the  time  Lesure  had  finished  his  story,  the 
Tennessee  boatman  was  the  only  auditor  left  awake. 
He  therefore  felt  himself  called  upon  for  a  response  ; 
and  he  answered  by  echoing  the  Frenchman's 
words  :  — 

"  What  do  I  think } " 

"  Yes,  sare.     Yankee  was  one  scoundrel." 

"Ezactly." 

"  One  big  rogue  !  " 

"Ezactly." 

And  then,  his  feelings  rising  with  his  effort  at  a 
climax  of  hard  names,  the  Frenchman  added, — 
now  sure  that  the  Tennessean  would  assent  to 
anything,  — 


A   RESCUE. 


n 


"  Yes,  sare  —  he  was  one  —  one  —  one  —  infernal 
Yankee  !  " 

Whether  Lesure  thought  possible  to  continue 
the  climax  any  higher  than  the  word  "  Yankee  "  is 
uncertain.  At  any  rate,  any  further  attempt  was 
cut  short  by  a  most  inharmonious  concert  of  cow- 
bells which  suddenly  broke  upon  the  stillness  of 
the  night,  and  made  the  forest  ring  with  its  discord. 
The  whole  party  was  awake  in  a  moment ;  but  be- 
fore they  had  time  to  form  an  opinion  as  to  the 
origin  of  the  noise  —  though  all  suspected  it  to 
have  been  produced  by  Indians  —  their  negro  man, 
Solomon,  bounded  into  their  midst  on  a  large,  fine 
horse,  with  a  string  of  bells  around  its  neck. 

"  Massa  Rose,"  said  Solomon,  "  I  bring  you  a 
good  boss  and  plenty  of  cow-bells." 

"  Why,  Sol,  where  in  the  name  of  your  great 
namesake  did  you  get  these  .-' "  inquired  Rose. 

"Tuk  'em  from  de  Injins,  Massa  Rose." 

"  From  the  Indians,  Sol  ?  That  story  won't  do. 
Tell  us  where  you  got  the  horse  and  bells,"  said 
Rose. 

"Tuk  'em  from  de  Injins,  Massa,  sure  as  Gos- 
pel," responded  Sol.  "  Ye  see,  I  tell  you  jest  how 
'twas,"  he  continued,  as  the  company  gathered 
round  to  hear  his  story.  "  When  Massa  Rose  an' 
de  Rangers  turn  in  for  de  night,  I  slip  ober  to  de 


74 


BROUGHT  TO  BAY. 


Saline  Creek  to  ketch  some  fish ;  build  little  fire  on 
de  bank  ;  put  on  de  bait,  an'  lay  down  by  de  fire. 
After  'while  go  to  sleep  little,  and  forget  to  wake 
up.  Big  Injin  come  and  git  straddle  o'  me,  and 
say,  "  Got  you  noiv,  nigga  !  "  He,  he,  he !  So  he 
did  got  me.  Nebba  min',  after  'while  I  got  ///;;/. 
*  How  de  do,  Injin  .-* '  says  I.  '  Glad  to  see  you.  I 
want  to  see  Injin  long  time  :  gwine  to  live  wid  you 
long  time  ago.'  *  Berry  good,'  say  de  Injin,  '  berry 
good.  Git  on  de  boss,  broder  nigga,  and  go  wid 
Injin.'  Injin  den  put  ole  Sol  on  de  boss  and  tie 
all  dese  bell  roun'  his  neck,  and  stuff  'em  full  ob 
leaves,  so  dey  would 'nt  ring.  Den  Injin  'bout  to 
git  on  'nudder  boss,  an'  ole  Sol  stick  his  heel  in  de 
boss's  flank,  an'  away  he  go  troo  de  wood  like  old 
Scratch !  Injin  shoot,  an'  holler  like  wildcat. 
Couldn't  hit  dis  chile  in  de  dark,  no  how  !  Leaves 
all  come  out  o'  de  cow-bells,  an'  scare  de  boss  so 
bad  he  run  right  here,  straight.  He,  he,  he ! 
Massa  Rose,  I  git  you  good  boss  an'  plenty  of  cow- 
bells.    He,  he ! " 

•  The  fellow  had  secured  a  good  horse  and  twenty 
or  thirty  bells,  worth  a  dollar  apiece..  Henceforth, 
Old  Sol  was  a  hero  ;  and  during  the  whole  expedi- 
tion never  got  done  talking  of  his  success  in  out- 
witting the  Indian. 

Dan  Rose  questioned  the  negro  closely  to  learn 


A   RESCUE. 


75 


whether  there  were  other  Indians  in  the  neighbor- 
hood. Solomon  had  seen  but  one.  It  was  nearly 
certain,  however,  that  a  single  hostile  Indian  would 
not  venture  so  near  the  settlement.  Telling  the 
men  to  look  to  their  rifles,  Rose  posted  sentinels  ; 
and  telling  them  to  be  ready  to  take  the  trail  by 
daybreak,  laid  himself  down  to  sleep. 

Before  sunrise  next  morning  the  rangers  had 
partaken  of  their  homely  breakfast,  and  started  in 
search  of  the  savages.  Taking  old  Sol's  fishing  fire 
as  a  starting  point,  they  traced  the  Indian's  horse 
up  to  the  north  fork  of  the  Saline  Creek  several 
miles,  where  they  found  a  camp-fire  still  burning. 
Here  it  was  evident  a  number  of  Indians  had  camped 
the  night  before.  A  fresh  trail,  still  distinct,  led 
off  from  the  Creek  directly  north  ;  and  the  tracks 
oi  several  horses  were  found  in  the  company. 

Rose  addressed  his  men,  telling  them  that  the 
Indian  who  lost  his  horse  and  bells  had,  no  doubt, 
given  the  alarm,  and  so  prompted  the  whole  band 
to  hasten  out  of  reach  of  the  settlement  as  quickly 
as  possible,  for  fear  of  pursuit.  He  warned  them 
to  be  on  their  guard  against  surprise,  and  then 
pushed  on  with  all  speed  in  the  direction  of  the 
trail.  At  dark  they  had  reached  the  borders  of  a 
prairie,  without  coming  in  sight  of  the  savages, 
though   their    trail    was    distinctly    seen,    leading 


-je  BROUGHT  TO  BAY. 

across  the  prairie.  Here  Rose  halted  his  men. 
It  was  thought  that  the  Indians  had  doubtless 
camped  on  the  other  side  of  the  prairie,  as  they 
could  not  get  wood  any  nearer,  and  would  not  be 
apt  to  go  further  ;  and  so,  after  an  hour's  rest,  the 
Rangers  again  commenced  their  march.  The 
prairie  was  about  four  miles  across.  Taking  their 
course  by  the  stars,  the  men  proceeded  in  silence 
until  they  reached  the  opposite  border  of  the 
prairie.  Here,  after  careful  reconnoitring,  they 
discovered  the  Indians'  camp-fire.  The  men  were 
therefore  halted,  while  Rose  himself  went  forward 
to  more  closely  examine  the  position  of  the  savages. 
He  found  them  under  the  bluff  bank  of  a  small 
creek,  where,  with  the  water  on  one  side  and  the 
bank  on  the  other,  they  had  built  their  fire  in  such 
a  manner  as  to  guard  against  surprise.  By  stealing 
up  a  bend  of  the  creek,  he  was  enabled  to  see  them 
seated  round  the  fire,  apparently  unsuspicious  of 
danger.  He  made  them  out  to  be  ten  in  number ; 
and  distinctly  saw  by  the  firelight  several  scalps 
dangling  from  one  fellow's  girdle.  Two  or  three 
horses  were  also  tethered  on  the  bank. 

On  returning  to  his  little  band  of  Rangers,  Rose 
divided  them  into  two  parties.  They  were  to  ap- 
proach the  creek  at  a  right  angle  until  they  came 
within  a  hundred  paces,  when  the  two  parties  were 


A   RESCUE. 


77 


to  diverge,  one  passing  below  and  the  other  above 
the  Indians.  Rose's  party  were  to  fire  first ;  and 
before  the  Indians  recovered  from  their  surprise, 
the  other  party  were  to  pour  in  their  fire. 

When  the  two  divisions  had  reached  their  posi- 
tions, a  new  diflficulty  arose.  The  bend  of  the 
creek  was  such  that  the  two  parties  and  the  In- 
dians formed  the  three  points  of  a  triangle ;  and 
just  behind  the  savages,  against  the  bank  of  the 
creek,  was  seen  a  white  prisoner,  bound  hand  and 
foot.  If  the  original  plan  of  attack  were  carried 
out,  this  poor  fellow  was  sure  to  receive  the  con- 
verging fire  of  both  parties.  Rose  hesitated  for  a 
moment.  Knowing  that  the  other  party  would 
wait  for  his  fire,  he  adopted  an  expedient,  sug- 
gested by  memories  of  hi»  boyhood,  to  draw  the 
Indians  away  from  their  prisoner.  Going  into  the 
woods  a  little  distance,  and  capturing  a  number  of 
lightning  bugs,  which  were  flying  about  in  hun- 
dreds, he  took  an  empty  glass  'bottle  from  his 
pocket,  put  the  living  fireflies  into  it,  and  corked 
them  up.  Then  setting  the  bottle  afloat  in  the 
creek,  he  returned  to  his  men  and  awaited  the  re- 
sult. It  proved  as  he  anticipated.  One  after 
another  of  the  savages  left  the  fire,  and  approached 
the  water's  edge,  to  see  the  strange  light  which 
was   flashing   and   sparkling   in   the  water.     The 


78  DROUGHT  TO  BAY. 

favorable  moment  arrived,  and  Rose  commanded 
his  men  to  fire.  Five  Indians  fell ;  and  before  the 
remaining  five  recovered  from  their  surprise,  the 
other  party  of  Rangers  delivered  their  fire,  and 
three  more  fell.  The  remaining  two  leaped  upon 
the  bank,  mounted  their  horses,  and  escaped  in  the 
darkness.  One  of  these  ran  by  the  prisoner  as  he 
fled,  and  struck  him  a  blow  upon  the  head  with  a 
tomahawk. 

After  reloading  their  rifles,  both  parties  ap- 
proached to  examine  the  slain.  Among  the  first 
to  reach  them  was  old  Solomon,  the  negro.  Taking 
it  for  granted  that  they  were  all  dead,  he  impru- 
dently ventured  into  their  midst,  was  dragged 
down  by  an  old  savage  while  in  his  very  death- 
struggle,  and  killed  by  a  single  plunge  of  the  knife. 
Poor  Sol !  he  was  only  a  slave,  but  he  was  es- 
teemed and  trusted  by  all  who  knew  him  ;  besides, 
as  legal  property  in  man  was  acknowledged  in  Illi- 
nois Territory,  his  death  was  also  "  a  dead  loss  of 
a  thousand  dollars,"  as  Lynch  remarked. 

The  prisoner  had  been  severely  wounded  by  the 
tomahawk ;  his  skull  was  injured,  and  bleeding 
badly.  After  his  limbs  were  loosed,  he  was  laid 
on  a  bed  of  leaves,  and  Lesure,  the  Frenchman  — 
who  now  proved  to  be  something  of  a  surgeon  — 
poured  water  from  the  creek  upon  the  wound  until 


A   RESCUE. 


79 


the  hemorrhage  stopped,  and  then  dressed  it  as 
well  as  his  means  would  permit.  The  prisoner 
was  found  to  be  a  young  man,  about  twenty  years 
of  age;  but  as  he  was  stupefied  by  his  wound, 
could  give  no  account  of  himself.  He  appeared, 
from  his  dress  and  other  indications,  to  be  a  stran- 
ger in  that  part  of  the  State,  —  if,  indeed  he  was 
even  a  Western  man  ;  and  his  rescuers  were  per- 
plexed in  the  attempt  to  form  a  definite  opinion 
concerning  him. 

It  was  considered  futile  to  follow  the  Indians 
who  had  escaped ;  and  after  posting  sentinels  out 
in  the  darkness  the  Rangers  laid  themselves  down 
for  repose. 

Early  next  morning,  while  preparing  breakfast, 
some  of  the  men  thought  they  heard  the  report  of 
a  rifle  in  the  direction  of  the  prairie.  A  scout  was 
sent  to  reconnoitre.  He  found  a  company  of 
Rangers  from  Kaskaskia,  who  were  scouring  the 
country  from  that  place  to  Vincennes  on  the  Wa- 
bash. They  had  seen  the  trail  of  Rose's  company, 
but  no  signs  of  Indians,  though  a  small  band  of 
savages  had  been  reported  to  them  by  a  scout  as 
having  committed  a  murder  near  the  mouth  of  the 
Ohio. 

A  conference  was  held  between  the  two  com- 
panies, after  which  Rose  and  a  portion  of  the  vol- 


8o  BROUGHT  TO  BAY. 

unteers  with  him  joined  the  Kaskaskia  company  — 
as  that  had  been  organized  under  the  authority  of 
Gov.  Edwards,  —  while  Summers  and  the  boatmen 
prepared  to  return  to  Shawneetown. 

A  Htter  was  made  for  the  wounded  young  man, 
which  the  men  carried  on  their  shoulders,  relieving 
each  other  in  turn.  The  party  was  two  days 
reaching  the  Salt  Works.  The  wounded  man  had 
unexpectedly  so  far  recovered  as  to  be  able  to  ride 
on  horseback ;  though,  owing  to  a  depression  of 
the  skull  upon  the  brain,  he  was  still  unable  to 
give  a  coherent  account  of  himself,  or  even  his 
name.  He  was  therefore  placed  on  a  led  horse,  and 
accompanied  by  the  men  to  Shawneetown,  after 
resting  one  night  at  the  Salt  Works.  Lesure  did 
his  best  to  have  him  left  behind  to  the  tender 
mercy  of  his  primitive  surgery ;  but  it  was  thought 
best  to  take  him  to  the  town,  where  he  might  have 
the  benefit  of  more  skilful  treatment. 

When  they  reached  town,  the  Rangers  carried 
their  patient,  almost  as  a  matter  of  course,  to  the 
house  of  Dan  Rose,  — for  his  good  wife  added  to 
her  many  housewifely  accomplishments  that  of 
being  the  best  nurse  in  the  village.  She  received 
him  with  hospitality  and  the  kindness  of  a  good 
Samaritan. 

It  was  soon  apparent  that  the  stranger  had  fall- 


BACKWOODS  SURGERY.  gi 

en  into  good  hands.  His  general  health  was  soon 
restored,  and  he  became  to  all  appearances  well ; 
but  he  remained  unconscious  of  his  condition,  hav- 
ing apparently  forgotten  all  past  events,  and  had 
nearly  lost  the  power  of  coherent  speech.  The 
few  words  which  he  did  say,  howev-r,  filled  his 
nurse  with  astonishment.  "  Not  Virginia  Leyba," 
he  would  say,  "but  'Ginia  Rose." 

One  day  when  he  had  been  muttering  these 
words  in  the  presence  of  Katy  Freeman,  she 
turned  to  him  suddenly  and  asked, — 

"Do  you  know  anything  of  'Ginia  Rose?" 

"  Sh  !  don't  whisper  it,"  said  he. 

Then,  seeing  tears  come  into  her  eyes,  he  said 
in  a  low,  soft  tone,  — 

"  Why,  how  should  you  know }  How  strange  ! " 

It  was  clear  to  Katy  that  this  young  man  was 
muttering  the  name  of  her  daughter ;  but  how 
was  'Ginia's  fate  wrapped  up  with  his  .■•  Where  had 
he  heard  her  name  .■*  and  could  he  have  had  any 
agency  in  her  abduction  .-'  The  latter  suspicion  was 
banished  as  soon  as  formed.  The  whole  appear- 
ance and  bearing  of  the  man,  notwithstanding  his 
unconsciousness,  forbade  such  a  conclusion.  Kind- 
ness and  generosity  were  impressed  upon  his 
countenance,  and  there  was  a  tone  of  sympathy 
in  his  voice  when   he  pronounced  the    name   of 


82  BROUGHT   TO  BAY. 

'Ginia  which  showed  him  to  be  animated  by  a 
generous  emotion.  At  length  the  fear  that  her 
daughter  had  shared  his  captivity  with  the  Indians, 
and  fallen  a  victim  to  their  cruelty,  possessed  the 
mother's  heart,  and  she  sought  by  all  the  arts  of 
kindness  to  win  the  stranger's  confidence,  and  to 
draw  from  his  clouded  mind  his  knowledge  of  her 
lost  darling. 

After  several  weeks,  it  was  determined  that  the 
wounded  man  should  be  trephined,  in  hope  that 
the  operation  would  remove  the  pressure  of  the 
skull  upon  the  brain,  and  restore  his  reason. 

The  reader  is  no  doubt  aware  that  the  instru- 
ment with  which  surgeons  usually  perform  this 
operation  is  a  small,  hollow  cylinder  of  steel,  having 
upon  its  end  teeth  resembling  those  of  a  saw. 
With  this  the  surgeon  takes  out  a  small  button  of 
bone,  by  rotating  the  instrument  backward  and 
forward  upon  the  skull  with  his  hand.  The  instru- 
ment used  by  Dr.  Reed  on  this  occasion,  however, 
was  of  a  somewhat  different  kind.  It  consisted 
simply  of  a  carpenter's  centre-bit  and  brace.  It 
has  been  said  that  true  skill  consists  in  adapting 
the  means  to  the  end.  If  that  is  true,  then  was 
Dr.  Reed  a  man  of  rare  skill ;  for,  putting  a  shield 
on  the  bit  to  prevent  its  going  too  far,  he  boldly 
put  the  brace  against  his  breast,  and  bored  an  inch 


BACKWOODS  SURGERY.  83 

hole  through  the  skull.  The  effect  was  won- 
derful, and  its  success  clearly  proved  the  doctor's 
skill. 

"Where  am  I.-'"  said  the  stranger,  the  moment 
his  brain  was  relieved  from  pressure. 


CHAPTER   VII. 

THE    WOUNDED    MAN's    STORY. 

"ly /TRS.  ROSE  and  Katy  continued  their  kind 
attention  to  the  stranger,  while  the  wound 
inflicted  by  the  rude  trephine  was  healing.  Katy 
exhibited  such  interest  in  his  welfare  that  when  he 
had  sufficiently  recovered  to  do  so  with  safety,  he 
attempted  to  gratify  her  desire  to  hear  the  history 
of  his  captivity  among  the  Indians,  and  the  events 
which  immediately  preceded.  Katy,  with  a  woman's 
prudence,  avoided  all  allusion  to  the  incoherent 
words  which  he  had  spoken,  until  she  could  be  sure 
that  he  possessed  some  knowledge  in  relation  to 
her  lost  daughter. 

Beginning  with  his  name,  like  a  sensible  man  as 
he  was,  the  young  man  proceeded  :  — 

"  My  name,  as  you  already  know,  is  Francis 
Sinclair.  I  was  born  in  New  Orleans,  and  lost  my 
father  in  early  life.  My  mother,  who  was  a  pious 
Catholic,  designed  me  for  the  Church ;  and  I  was 
accordingly  educated  for  the  priesthood.  My 
mother  had  a  brother  at  St.  Louis,  on  the  Missis- 


THE    WOUNDED  MAN'S  STORY.  85 

sippi,  engaged  in  mercantile  business,  who,  ever 
since  the  death  of  my  father,  had  urged  her  to 
remove  to  that  place.  But  the  difficult  naviga- 
tion of  that  river,  together  with  my  mother's  strong 
desire  to  be  with  her  son,  prevented  her  acceptance 
of  his  invitation.  Four  months  ago,  however,  he 
sent  her  a  renewed  invitation,  stating  that  he  had 
made  arrangements  with  a  good  priest  in  St.  Louis 
to  continue  my  instruction,  if  that  should  still  be 
necessary. 

"  I  was  now  of  an  age  to  be  able  to  choose  for 
myself  my  course  in  life ;  and  I  must  acknowledge 
that  the  service  of  the  Church  was  not  that  choice. 
I  hoped,  therefore,  that  the  opportunities  of  this 
wild  country  would  favor  my  desire  of  entering  a 
field  of  labor  better  suited  to  my  taste  ;  and  my 
urgent  solicitation  decided  my  mother  to  risk  the 
journey,  which  has  had  such  a  sad  termination  ! 
My  poor,  dear  mother  fell  a  victim  to  the  murder- 
ous savages.     But  I  will  not  anticipate. 

"My  uncle's  barge,  loaded  with  merchandise, 
was  lying  at  the  levee;  and  three  days  after  my 
mother  decided  to  go  to  St.  Louis,  we  were  on  the 
turbid  waters  of  the  Mississippi.  On  going  aboard 
the  barge,  we  found  that  we  were  to  have  other 
companions  for  the  voyage  beside  the  captain  of 
the  vessel  and  the  French  boatmen.     These  were 


86  BROUGHT  TO  BAY. 

Sister  Naomi,  a  nun  whom  I  had  known  before, 
and  a  young  girl  of  some  thirteen  years,  named 
Virginia  —  you  look  very  pale,  madam  (speaking 
to  Katy).     Are  you  ill?" 

"  Oh,  I  am  better,  sir,"  said  she.  "  Please  go 
on." 

Sinclair  continued :  — 

"  This  fairy  creature  was  named  Virginia  Leyba. 
From  the  first  moment  of  our  meeting,  it  seemed 
to  me  that  I  was  dreaming,  so  like  the  bright 
images  which  had  often  filled  my  vision  in  my 
dream-hours  was  this  blithe,  blue-eyed  girl. 

"  Do  not  suspect  me,  my  dear  madam,  of 
having  fallen  in  love — at  least  after  any  ordinary 
manner — with  this  child,  for  she  was  a  child,  after 
all ;  and  yet  I  loved  her  because  she  was  a  child. 

"Well,  this  bright  rosebud,  just  ready  to  burst 
into  womanhood,  and  the  good  Sister  Naomi,  were 
our  companions  for  the  voyage.  We  were  more 
than  two  months  slowly  creeping  up  the  muddy 
river.  The  boatmen  were  seldom  idle  long  enough 
to  feel  the  want  of  amusement,  though  they  often 
enlivened  the  tedium  of  the  voyage  by  snatches  of 
song,  or  stories.  But  we  poor  passengers  were 
driven  to  many  expedients  to  vary  the  dull  monot- 
ony. Sister  Naomi  managed  for  the  first  month 
to  keep  her  cheerfulness  by  giving  to  her  young 


THE   WOUNDED  MAN'S  STORY.  87 

pupil  lessons  in  literature  and  in  religion.  In  the 
former  study  her  progress  appeared  to  me  marvel- 
lous; but  she  did  not  give  the  good  Sister  very 
satisfactory  evidence  of  her  devotion  to  Mother 
Church.  However,  her  ignorance  of  Catholic 
theology  was  amply  atoned  for  by  her  wit  and 
girlish  philosophy.  For  my  own  part,  I  divided 
my  time  between  reading  to  my  mother  and  listen- 
ing to  the  voice  of  Virginia  Leyba.  After  the  first 
month,  Sister  Naomi  seemed  to  tire  of  her  daily 
routine  of  assigning  lessons  and  hearing  her  pupil 
recite.  She  gave  up  literature,  therefore,  and  con- 
fined herself  to  religious  instruction,  saying  that 
the  child  had  imbibed  such  erroneous  ideas  and 
opinions  from  her  heretic  mother  that  it  would 
require  a  good  while  to  exterminate  them.  '  Oh, 
yes,'  said  Virginia  to  me,  laughingly,  '  it  will  require 
a  long,  long  while.' 

"Well,  after  this,"  continued  Sinclair,  "Virginia 
and  I  enjoyed  the  golden  hours  together.  We 
watched  the  bubbling  waters  as  they  hurried  by ; 
we  admired  the  gay  festoons  of  pendent  moss,  as 
they  trailed  from  the  river's  bordering  trees ;  we 
listened  to  the  merry  chatter  of  the  paroquet,  and 
the  exulting  cry  of  the  kingfisher  as  he  rose  from 
the  water  with  his  finny  prey ;  we  watched  the 
graceful  swans,  which   sometimes  floated  in  the 


88  BROUGHT  TO  BAY. 

eddies,  and  dashed  the  muddy  water  over  their 
snowy  plumage.  Whole  hours  we  would  sit  at  the 
vessel's  side,  waiting  for  some  unlucky  fish  to 
swallow  our  baited  hooks.  And  at  this  amusement 
my  companion  was  far  my  superior.  There  really 
appeared  to  be  a  fascination  in  her  touch,  so  that 
the  fish  could  not  resist  the  temptation  to  swallow 
her  bait.  My  own  hook  might  hang  for  hours 
without  a  nibble ;  and  yet,  only  let  Virginia  touch 
the  hook  with  her  fairy  fingers,  and  the  charmed 
barb  was  sure  to  bring  up  its  victim. 

*'  One  day  I  called  her  Virginia  Leyba,  as  usual, 
when  she  said,  in  an  undertone,  not  to  be  heard 
by  others,  ^ Not  Virginia  Leyba,  but  'GiJiia  Rose.' 

**  It  appears  that  another  did  hear,  however,  for 
Sister  Naomi,  with  a  voice  of  reprimand,  called 
her  from  the  other  end  of  the  barge.  From  that 
moment  we  were  alone  together  no  more. 

"  The  next  day  my  mother  took  occasion  to  say 
that  a  young  man  who  had  devoted  his  life  to  the 
priesthood,  as  I  had,  should  never  permit  himself 
to  look  twice  at  a  pretty  face,  even  though  it  were 
the  face  of  a  child  ;  for  that  the  young  bud  just 
bursting  into  beauty  is  more  dangerously  fascinating 
than  the  full-blown  rose.  I  replied  that  not  I,  but 
my  mother,  had  so  devoted  me  ;  and  that  there  was 
that  within  me  which  I  feared  would  sadly  conflict 


THE    WOUNDED  MAN'S  STORY.  89 

with  her  intentions.  I  am  now  thankful  that  I  said 
no  more,  as  my  poor  dear  mother  is  gone  forever." 

"But  my  daughter,  —  my  'Ginia,"  said  his  anx- 
ious auditor,  who  could  bear  no  longer.  "  Does  she 
yet  live .-'     Oh,  do  not  tell  me  she  is  dead  !  " 

"  She  escaped  when  I  was  made  captain  ;  and  no 
doubt,  is  still  living,"  replied  Sinclair.  "  But  can 
it  be  possible  that  she  is  yours  .''  " 

A  full  history  of  'Ginia's  disappearance  was 
given,  and  Sinclair  became  certain  that  the  kind 
nurse  who  had  dressed  his  wounds,  — 

"And  with  the  healing  potion  poured 
The  opiate  of  a  woman's  word," 

was  the  mother  of  the  beautiful  creature  who  had 
crossed  his  path  of  life  so  strangely. 

Sinclair  anticipated  his  narrative  to  tell  his  audi- 
tor that  'Ginia  and  her  present  guardian,  Sister 
Naomi,  had  no  doubt  arrived  safe  at  St.  Louis,  and 
then  resumed  :  — 

"  For  days  and  weeks  that  sad,  confiding  under- 
tone lingered  on  my  ear,  —  *  Not  Virginia  Leyba, 
but  'Ginia  Rose*  A  new  tie  had  bound  me  to  the 
captive  bird  :  that  tie  was  mystery.  What  strange 
history  was  hidden  beneath  the  words } 

"  I  ventured  one  day  to  ask  her  kind  guardian 
for  the  girl's  history ;  she  replied :  '  Her  father, 
Don  Antonio  de  Leyba,  brought  her  to  my  care, 


90 


BROUGHT  TO  BAY. 


and  as  he  trusted  me  with  her  instruction,  I  trusted 
him  with  her  history.     I  did  not  question  him.' 

"  *  But  who  is  Don  Leyba  .-* '  "  said  I. 

*"A  friend  to  our  House,  who,  having  devoted 
large  sums  to  the  Church,  has,  wisely,  no  doubt, 
devoted  his  daughter  to  its  service.' 

"  I  asked  no  more  questions,  but  from  that  mo- 
ment my  resolution  was  taken.  I  determined  to 
rescue  this  young  creature,  who  was  formed  to  be 
the  light  and  joy  of  the  social  world,  from  her  un- 
natural destination.  I  could  not  doubt  that  there 
was  some  hidden  wrong  connected  with  her  pres- 
ent position,  and  duty  as  well  as  inclination 
prompted  me  to  search  it  out." 

"Did  you  not  say  her  eyes  were  blue,"  asked 
Katy. 

"Blue  as  the  summer  sky." 

"  And  her  hair  auburn  1 " 

"Ay,  and  beautiful  as  threads  of  gold." 

"  And  her  complexion  fair .-' " 

"  The  lily  is  hardly  fairer." 

"  Oh,  she  can  only  be  my  own  'Ginia.  But  then 
that  Spanish  name." 

"There  lies  a  mystery,  she  denies  the  name." 

These  questions  were  asked  and  answered,  and 
Sinclair  resumed  his  narrative  :  — 

"  I  approach  the  sad  catastrophe  which  resulted 


THE    WOUNDED  MAN'S  STORY. 


91 


in  the  death  of  my  mother,  and  in  my  own  cap- 
tivity. 

"  With  favoring  winds,  we  had  a  short  voyage, 
and  reached  the  mouth  of  the  Ohio  without  acci- 
dent. There  we  loaded,  and  remained  a  day  for 
the  purpose  of  making  some  repairs  upon  the 
barge.  My  mother  and  I  walked  out  upon  the 
shore  some  distance  to  enjoy  the  cool  shade  of 
some  Cottonwood  trees,  and  we  were  fired  upon  by 
Indians,  within  rifleshot  of  the  barge  and  in  sight 
of  Sister  Naomi  and  Virginia.  My  poor  mother 
fell  instantly  dead,  and  I  was  captured  and  carried 
off.  I  heard  the  screams  of  the  women  on  the 
boat  as  I  was  borne  away  to  the  woods. 

"  After  being  forced  to  travel  on  foot  until 
nearly  exhausted,  the  savages  placed  me  upon  a 
horse  stolen  from  some  settlement,  and  hastened 
toward  the  prairies  of  the  interior. 

"  The  rest  of  my  story  you  know.  On  the  night 
of  the  fourth  day,  your  father  and  his  noble  band 
rescued  me  from  the  savages  ;  and  your  family's 
kindness  since  has  nearly  restored  my  usual 
health." 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

AN  AMPHIBIOUS  TOWN.  WORSHIP  IN  THE  WOODS. 

"THE   JERKS." 

TT  was  widely  known  in  "  Illinois  Territory,"  that 
the  goodly  village  of  Shawneetown  was  subject 
to  frequent  and  unceremonious  visits  from  la  belle 
riviere,  and  that  this  ordinarily  genteel  and  well- 
behaved  stream  was  frequently  known  to  come 
when  least  expected,  and  to  make  a  most  ungentle 
stay,  notwithstanding  the  inhospitable  reception  it 
met  with  from  a  people  who  are  otherwise  famed 
for  their  hospitality.  One  of  these  unwelcome 
overflows  occurred  about  the  time  that  Francis 
Sinclair  had  sufficiently  recovered  from  the  effects 
of  his  wound  to  begin  to  need  and  to  desire  out- 
door exercise.  His  morning  walks  at  first  extended 
far  enough  to  enable  him  to  take  his  breakfast  with 
a  good  appetite  on  his  return  ;  but  the  flood  hav- 
ing overflowed  the  land  behind  the  town  one  night, 
he  was  admonished  to  cut  short  his  walk,  or  con- 
fine it  to  the  river-bank,  which  was  higher  ground 
than  that  behind  the  town. 

On  the  next  day  the  strip  of  dry  land  had  nar- 


AN  AMPHIBIOUS   TOWN. 


93 


rowed  to  a  quarter  of  a  mile,  and  even  that  was 
fast  disappearing.  He  began  to  feel  somewhat 
uneasy,  and  on  his  return  appealed  to  Katy  Free- 
man to  know  what  the  people  would  do  "  if  the 
river  kept  on  rising." 

"Well,  my  dear  sir,"  said  Katy  pleasantly,  "  the 
river  was  never  known  to  'keep  on  rising.' " 

"  Oh,  no,"  said  Sinclair,  "  I  trust  it  will  stop 
sometime.  In  the  meantime,  what  will  the  people 
do } " 

"  Oh,  they  will  get  into  the  upper  part  of  the 
house,  if  the  house  happens  to  have  an  upper  part. 
Others  will  caulk  up  their  old  boats,  which  have 
performed  the  same  service  on  similar  occasions 
before,  and  will  move  into  them.  Others  will  camp 
on  those  mounds  which  you  observe  above  town : 
these  are  the  last  spots  under  water.  Finally, 
when  they  can  stay  no  longer,  all  go  in  the  boats 
to  the  hills,  and  wait  until  the  water  goes  down." 

"Well,"  responded  Sinclair,  "that  must  be  a 
delightful  state  of  things  !  I  should  prefer  going 
to  the  hills  before  the  flood  comes  —  and  never 
coming  back.  I  judge  from  the  movements  of  the 
people  and  the  appearance  of  the  water,  which  is 
still  very  muddy  and  filled  with  drift-wood,  that 
there  will  have  to  be  a  general  flight  to  the  woods 
on  this  occasion." 


94 


BROUGHT  TO  BAY. 


"  We  have  an  opportunity,"  said  Katy,  "  to  go  to 
the  camp-meeting  in  the  morning ;  and  as  it  will 
continue  for  some  time,  the  river  will  probably  be 
down  by  the  time  of  our  return.  Will  you  not  be 
pleased  to  attend  the  meeting  ?  " 

"  Indeed  I  will,"  he  replied.  "  The  scenes  which 
I  am  told  occur  there  are  interesting  to  me  on 
more  accounts  than  one." 

On  the  following  morning  Sinclair,  accompanied 
by  Mrs.  Rose  and  party,  got  on  board  a  small  flat- 
boat,  and  started  for  the  hills.  As  the  party  passed 
slowly  on,  Sinclair  had  a  fine  opportunity  to  ob- 
serve the  grotesque  scene  of  a  town  under  water. 
A  few  small  artificial  mounds,  of  aboriginal  origin, 
and  about  three  acres  of  dry  ground  at  their  base, 
was  all  of  tei'ra  firma  which  could  be  seen.  On 
those  mounds,  besides  the  cattle,  horses,  and  dogs 
which  had  not  been  ferried  to  the  hills,  were  men, 
women,  and  children,  of  all  ages  and  colors,  en- 
gaged in  occupations  as  multifarious  as  their  char- 
acters. Some  were  feeding  stock,  some  were 
"killing  their  pork,"  some  were  gathering  drift- 
wood from  the  water,  some  were  boiling  tar  for  the 
purpose  of  pitching  some  old  boat  which  had  lain 
there  idle  since  the  last  flood.  Boats  of  all  manner 
of  shapes  and  sizes  were  passing  to  and  fro  between 
the  mounds  and  the  vacated  houses.     Flats,  skiffs, 


WORSHIP  IN  THE    WOODS. 


95 


canoes,  rafts,  and  even  horse-troughs,  were  put  in 
requisition  for  this  purpose  ;  one  large  flat-bottomed 
boat  was  doing  service  as  a  ferry-boat,  carrying  to 
the  hills.  A  lai^e  portion  of  the  population  had 
already  left  the  village,  most  of  whom  passed  on  to 
the  camp-meeting  on  Cypress  Creek,  a  few  miles 
in  the  interior. 

On  reaching  the  camp-ground,  Sinclair  witnessed 
such  a  scene  as  could  be  found  in  no  other  country. 
The  camp  was  located  at  a  place  most  easily  acces- 
sible to  the  people  of  all  the  "settlements"  for 
many  miles  round ;  in  the  midst  of  a  tall  forest  of 
oaks,  hickories,  pecans,  and  other  towering  trees. 
There  were  about  forty  tents  or  booths,  built  in  a 
semi-circle  round  an  open  space  of  about  three 
acres ;  and  another  circle,  composed  chiefly  of  cov- 
ered wagons,  surrounded  this  inner  circle  of  tents. 
The  tents  were  temporary  huts  of  logs,  and  were 
intended  chiefly  as  sleeping  apartments.  Between 
the  circle  of  tents  and  the  line  of  wagons  large 
fires  were  burning  ;  at  these  the  people  prepared 
their  food  in  the  daytime,  and  they  served  to  light 
the  centre  camp-ground  at  night.  At  a  prominent 
central  point  the  preachers'  stand  was  erected.  It 
consisted  simply  of  a  platform,  four  feet  from  the 
ground,  built  of  slabs,  supported  by  the  same  trees 
which  served  as  the  only  covering  above  the  heads 
of  the  preachers. 


96  BROUGHT  TO  BAY. 

Our  little  party  reached  the  camp-ground  just 
after  sundown.  There  were  at  least  five  hundred 
persons  on  the  ground,  gathered  from  a  distance  of 
thirty  or  forty  miles  around.  Some  of  these  were 
cooking  their  evening  meal ;  some  were  singing 
hymns  of  praise  in  the  various  tents ;  while  others 
were  pouring  out  their  hearts  in  fervent  prayers. 

Mrs.  Rose  had  been  invited  by  the  Elder  to 
occupy  his  tent  in  company  with  his  own  family, 
and  thither  the  party  proceeded.  This  Elder  was 
a  most  devoted  man  of  God.  He  had  come  all  the 
way  from  Vincennes  to  attend  this  meeting ;  and 
he  had  labored  so  incessantly,  preaching  to  the 
multitude,  singing,  praying,  exhorting,  and  convers- 
ing with  the  people,  that  he  was  hoarse  and  nearly 
exhausted.  But  Elder  Havens  was  not  a  man  to 
give  up.  He  had  consecrated  himself  to  the  work, 
and  was  ready  to  fall  in  the  battle  with  his  harness 
on.  Two  or  three  other  preachers  also  were  at  the 
meeting ;  and  all  labored  with  a  zeal  worthy  of 
their  cause. 

After  the  frugal  evening  meal  was  disposed  of, 
the  people  began  silently  to  seat  themselves  on  the 
rude  benches  in  the  open  space  in  front  of  the 
preachers'  stand,  waiting  in  the  most  orderly  man- 
ner for  the  services  to  begin.  Occasionally  some 
one  would  start  an  old  familiar  hymn,  which  would 


WORSHIP  IN  THE    WOODS.  97 

be  caught  up  by  the  entire  assembly,  who  made 
the  very  vault  of  heaven  echo  with  their  voices. 
Fresh  fuel  was  put  upon  the  fires,  which  threw 
their  picturesque  glare  upon  the  tents,  and  cast  a 
dim  illumination  over  the  whole  assembly. 

Presently  the  Elder  rose,  and  in  a  solemn  voice 
called  upon  the  multitude  to  "unite  in  prayer." 
Oh,  what  a  scene  was  that !  The  giant  old  trees  of 
a  thousand  years  spread  their  vast  arms  over  the 
multitude,  like  the  complex  architecture  of  some 
huge  Gothic  temple  ;  the  blue  sky  vaulted  it  above, 
and  the  calm,  bright  stars  looked  down,  like 
watchers  in  the  spirit  world.  Then  went  up  the 
voice  of  prayer  to  God  from  a  temple  the  work  of 
His  hands.  Then  swayed  the  multitude  of  wor- 
shippers, as  they  were  moved  by  the  eloquence  or 
the  fervor  of  the  preacher ;  and  the  deep  amens, 
which  ever  and  anon  responded  to  his  prayer, 
marked  the  deep  devotion  of  the  worshippers. 

After  the  opening  prayer  a  hymn  was  'given 
out,'  two  lines  at  a  time,  and  sung  by  the  whole 
congregation  with  an  earnest  fervor  which  would 
put  to  shame  the  efforts  of  many  of  the  more 
modern  choirs. 

After  the  preacher  had  announced  the  text,  and 
had  spent  some  time  in  elucidating  it  in  his  pe- 
culiar manner,  Sinclair  began  to  think,  from  the 


98 


BROUGHT  TO  BAY. 


stillness  which  prevailed,  that  he  should  not  see 
any  of  those  scenes  of  excitement  and  physical 
manifestation  of  which  he  had  heard  so  much. 
He  had  obtained  a  seat  just  in  front  of  the  preach- 
ers' stand,  among  the  most  devout  of  the  brethren. 
On  the  same  seat  with  himself  sat  an  old  gentle- 
man who  had  been  introduced  to  him  by  the  Elder 
as  Brother  Sands.  There  was  something  in  the 
appearance  of  this  man  which  attracted  Sinclair's 
attention.  He  was  over  six  feet  in  height,  very 
slenderly  made,  and  of  a  nervo-bilious  tempera- 
ment. His  body  appeared  to  be  almost  without 
bones  in  any  part.  In  the  first  place,  his  form 
from  head  to  foot  was  straight  as  an  arrow.  His 
legs  and  arms  were  not  only  marvellously  straight, 
but  appeared  to  be  without  any  increase  in  size 
from  his  body  outward.  His  shoulders  ran  out 
from  his  neck  at  a  right  angle,  and  the  arms  hung 
down  from  them  at  a  similar  angle.  His  hair  was 
straight  and  black,  and  his  twinkling  gray  eyes 
looked  out  from  beneath  straight,  black  brows,  that 
formed  a  line  at  right  angles  with  his  nose.  Even 
his  voice  partook  of  this  same  angularity,  never 
passing  from  tone  to  tone  by  natural  modulations, 
but  by  a  succession  of  inharmonious  intervals. 
This  man  was  a  devout  Christian,  whose  life  was 
a  worthy  comment  on  his  profession. 


THE  JERKS.  99 

Some  time  after  the  sermon  began,  and  before 
any  undue  excitement  appeared  in  the  congrega- 
tion, the  right  arm  of  this  man  Sands  suddenly 
flew  up  straight  above  his  head,  as  if  impelled  by 
some  unseen  and  irresistible  force.  The  man 
gave  a  sudden,  short,  sharp  shriek  of  pain.  After 
a  few  seconds  the  arm  fell  as  if  dead  to  his  side. 
In  a  moment  more  the  other  arm  performed  a 
similar  movement  and  with  increased  violence. 
The  man  involuntarily  cried  out  again  with  pain. 
Sinclair  was  alarmed,  and  took  hold  of  the  arm 
for  the  purpose  of  rendering  some  assistance.  It 
was  rigid  as  stone !  The  muscles  on  the  top  of  the 
shoulders  were  thrown  into  a  hard,  knotty  mass ; 
and  the  whole  limb  felt  as  if  it  were  made  of  wood 
instead  of  living  flesh  and  blood.  Some  of  the 
persons  near  requested  Sinclair  not  to  interfere  in 
any  way,  as  it  would  only  make  matters  worse, 
adding  that  it  was  "  nothing  but  the  jerks."  The 
arm  soon  fell  down  as  the  other  had  done ;  while 
the  preacher,  not  at  all  interrupted  by  the  occur- 
rence, attended  to  his  discourse  as  the  more  im- 
portant duty. 

After  a  little  while  the  man's  knees  flew  up  into 
his  face,  and  he  fell  to  the  ground  perfectly  help- 
less. Some  of  the  brethren  pulled  him  up  and 
laid  him  upon  some  straw  which  had  been  spread 


lOO  BROUGHT  TO  BAY. 

in  front  of  the  preachers'  stand,  where  it  had  been 
placed,  in  fact,  for  just  such  a  purpose.  Here,  the 
man  lay,  suffering  these  contortions  and  "jerks," 
though  less  violent,  until  the  close  of  the  services. 

Directly,  a  woman  on  the  upper  side  of  the 
stand  was  attacked.  Her  jaws  commenced  jerking 
with  a  short,  quick  bite,  like  the  snapping  of  a 
wolf.  The  first  paroxysm  had  caught  her  tongue 
between  her  teeth,  and  had  inflicted  a  wound 
which  was  bleeding  profusely.  She  was  placed  on 
the  straw,  also,  to  prevent  injury  from  falling. 
The  contagion  continued  to  spread  until  ten  or 
twelve  persons  had  been  drawn  into  the  sympa- 
thetic circle,  and  lay  helpless  on  the  straw,  jerking 
more  or  less  violently. 

Then  the  character  of  the  affection  seemed  to 
be  changed.  A  woman  suddenly  fell  from  her 
seat  in  a  fit  of  convulsive  laughter.  She  was  soon 
followed  by  others,  similarly  affected,  until  more 
than  a  dozen  were  engaged  in  this  strange  cachin- 
ation.  This  was  chiefly  confined  to  the  women ; 
one  poor  creature  laughed  so  incessantly  that  her 
kings  became  exhausted,  and  she  presented  the 
appearance  of  a  person  dying  from  suffocation. 
One  of  the  preachers  dashed  a  cup  of  cold  water 
in  her  face,  when  she  caught  her  breath  with  a 
sudden  sigh,  and  resumed  her  respiration. 


THE  JERKS.  lOl 

When  the  preacher  had  finished  his  discourse, 
he  came  down  from  the  stand  and  passed  round 
among  the  sufferers,  addressing  a  few  words  of 
consolation  to  each  one ;  and  thus  calmed  the 
strange  excitement  he  had  raised.  The  arms  and 
legs  of  Brother  Sands,  however,  continued  to  per- 
form their  feats  of  triangulation  for  some  time 
afterwards,  and  he  was  carried  to  his  tent  ex- 
hausted. 

After  the  conclusion  of  the  evening  services, 
when  all  had  retired  to  the  tents  for  the  night, 
Sinclair  took  occasion  to  converse  with  the  Elder 
on  the  subject  of  the  labors  performed  by  the 
preachers  of  his  denomination. 

"I  suppose,  Mr.  Havens,"  said  he,  "that  such 
protracted  efforts  as  are  called  for  on  this  occasion 
are  of  comparatively  rare  occurrence .-' " 

"Not  at  all,  my  dear  sir,"  said  the  Elder.  "I 
have  attended  four  similar  meetings  in  the  course 
of  the  last  four  weeks,  no  two  of  which  were  within 
fifty  miles  of  each  other;  and  in  no  one  of  them 
have  I  had  so  much  aid  from  other  preachers  as  in 
this." 

"Well,"  said  Sinclair,  "you  will  certainly  be 
worn  out  after  a  while." 

"Yes,  thank  God,"  said  the  Elder,  "my  Father 
will  call  me  home  in  his  own  good  time." 


I02  BROUGHT  TO  BAY. 

"Where  is  your  permanent  residence  ?" 

"  My  wife  and  little  ones  are  at  Vincennes,"  said 
the  Elder,  "but  my  district  extends  over  a  hundred 
miles.  Still,  I  manage  to  be  with  my  wife  and 
family  five  or  six  times  a  year." 

"  What  remuneration  do  you  receive  .■'  "  inquired 
Sinclair. 

"  Remuneration  }  Oh,  yes,  God  be  praised  !  — a 
thousand  times  more  than  I  deserve  :  the  approba- 
tion of  my  Saviour, —  *  Well  done,  good  and  faithful 
servant ! '  " 

"  But  your  salary  :  you  get  some  kind  of  support 
from  the  members,  or  you  could  not  live  .■*  " 

"  Oh,  yes  ;  we  all  get  a  little  something  for  food 
and  raiment ;  but  it  is  so  little  that  no  one  is  ever 
tempted  to  look  upon  tJiat  as  his  remuneration.  I 
have  a  wife  and  five  children ;  and  I  am  allowed 
about  two  hundred  and  fifty  dollars  per  annum. 
But  I  scarcely  ever  get  over  half  that  amount." 

"But,  my  dear  sir,"  said  Sinclair,  "it  appears 
improbable  that  you  could  subsist  at  all  on  the 
whole  amount,  much  less  the  half." 

"  It  is  truly  a  poor  pittance,"  was  the  Elder's 
reply;  "and  nothing  but  the  sustaining  arm  of  a 
kind  Providence  enables  us  to  bear  up  under  it. 
For  myself,  I  fare  better  than  my  poor  wife  and 
children ;  for  I  am  visiting  from  church  to  church, 


THE  JERKS.  103 

and  always  find  some  brother,  who  has  more  than 
he  needs  for  the  present  moment,  to  divide  his 
frugal  meal  with  me,  and  then  occasionally  one 
gives  me  a  pair  of  shoes,  or  a  hat,  or  even  a  coat ; 
so  that  I  manage  to  get  from  one  Conference  to 
another.  But  my  poor  family  —  without  husband 
and  father,  with  none  to  watch  over  and  protect  — 
tlieirs  is  a  hard  fate." 

A  tear  stole  into  the  corner  of  the  good  man's 
eye  as  he  continued :  — 

"  I  never  murmur ;  and  I  only  talk  thus  plainly 
of  a  preacher's  life  in  the  West  that  you  may  be 
able  to  realize  the  sacrifices  which  are  made  by 
those  who  are  carrying  the  Word  of  God  into  the 
Wilderness.  But  I  do  not  murmur.  Many  a  time 
and  often,  as  I  have  been  seated  at  the  well- 
provided  table  of  some  brother,  a  silent  tear  has 
stolen  down  my  cheek  at  the  thought  that  my  poor 
wife  and  children  were  living  on  corn-bread  and 
water !  Sometimes  for  many  weeks  not  a  mouth- 
ful of  any  food  was  in  my  house  but  cornmeal ;  and 
then  we  thanked  God  that  this  could  be  had  so 
cheap.  A  little  salt  and  a  little  water  and  a  little 
fire,  and  the  simple  cornmeal  becomes  a  wholesome 
and  pleasant  bread.  Let  us  thank  God  for  Indian 
corn  !  It  has  been  the  special  friend  of  the  Gospel 
in  this  western  country." 


104 


BROUGHT  TO  BAY. 


"  I  have  seen  the  time,  Brother  Havens,  when  I 
could  not  get  that,"  said  another  preacher  who  was 
present.  "  The  year  I  was  on  the  Wabash  Circuit, 
our  people  paid  their  quarterage  in  corn.  From 
that  we  fed  our  horses,  cow,  pigs,  and  chickens ; 
and  it  was  so  far  to  the  mill  that  we  lived  on  hom- 
iny more  than  half  the  year,  because  we  could  not 
get  our  corn  to  the  mill  and  back." 

This  last  speaker  was  quite  an  old  man  ;  and  Sin- 
clair asked  him  how  long  he  had  been  preaching. 

"Thirty  years,"  was  the  reply. 

"  Suppose  you  should  die  to-morrow :  what  would 
you  be  able  to  leave  for  the  support  of  your 
family  ? " 

"  Not  a  penny  !  "  said  the  other. 

"  Let  us  pray,"  said  the  Elder. 

Then  went  up  to  God  the  fervent  prayer  of  this 
man,  who  had  consecrated  his  life,  body  and  soul, 
to  His  service. 

Sinclair  retired  to  rest  with  new  views  of  Chris- 
tian duty  ;  and  a  doubt,  for  the  first  time  in  his 
life,  of  the  infallibility  of  the  Romish  Church. 

The  next  day  was  the  Sabbath  ;  and  the  num- 
bers in  attendance  had  increased  by  several  hun- 
dred, —  consisting  of  hunters,  boatmen,  salt-boilers, 
negro  slaves,  etc.,  yet  the  most  perfect  good  order 
prevailed  throughout  the  day.     At  that  time  there 


THE   JERKS.  105 

were  numbers  of  men  who  lived  a  life  divided 
between  hunting  and  agriculture.  They  raised  a 
little  corn,  —  or  their  wives  did  for  them  fre- 
quently,—  just  to  feed  themselves  and  their  own 
stock,  and  perhaps  a  little  for  market ;  but  still 
depended  on  the  rifle  as  their  chief  means  of  sup- 
port. These  men  and  their  rifles  had  become  such 
inseparable  companions  that  they  were  nearly 
always  seen  together.  At  home  or  abroad,  in  the 
field  at  work,  in  the  village  "  tradin',  "  and  even  at 
"  meeting,"  the  rifle  was  always  at  hand. 

About  the  camp-meeting,  rifles  might  be  seen 
here  and  there  above  the  heads  of  the  congrega- 
tion. The  men  who  carried  them  were,  generally, 
in  hunting  attire ;  at  one  side  of  their  girdles,  by 
way  of  balancing  the  powder-horn  at  the  other, 
there  was  generally  seen  a  long-bladed  hunting- 
knife,  which  would  answer  just  as  well  for  slashing 
"Injins"  as  wolves. 

For  the  purpose  of  learning  their  character, 
Sinclair  introduced  to  some  of  them  the  subject  of 
the  vote  proposed  to  be  taken  throughout  the 
Territory  upon  the  question  of  the  second  form  of 
government  common  to  territories  of  that  day. 

"You  backwoodsmen  will  have  to  lay  by  the 
rifle,  and  stick  closer  to  the  plough,  after  a  while," 
said  Sinclair. 


Io6  BROUGHT  TO  BAY. 

"  The  territory  will  now  make  such  an  advance 
that  a  few  years  more  will  make  it  a  State.  It  will 
hardly  be  forty  years  until  there  will  be  a  million 
of  people  in  it." 

"  Stranger,"  said  a  hunter  named  Edwards,  for- 
merly from  Tennessee,  "  it  is  my  opinion  it  is  bad 
business,  —  this  thing  of  crowding  all  the  good 
land  with  people.  The  game  is  gettin'  sca'ce 
a' ready." 

"  Yes,  that  may  be,"  replied  Sinclair,  "  but  one 
plough  will  procure  more  of  the  necessaries  of  life 
than  twenty  rifles." 

"  Me  and  my  boys  can  get  all  the  necessaries  for 
my  family  with  our  rifles.  So  can  any  man,  as  is 
a  man.  Howsomever — the  women  are  gittin*  to 
think  a  straw  bonnet  isn't  good  enough  for  'em 
now ;  the  boys  have  a  Sunday  coat ;  and  the  gals 
is  all  gittin'  above  wearin'  linsey  any  longer." 

'•  Yes,  probably  that  is  true,"  said  Sinclair. 
"  But  many  good  things  come  with  the  increase 
of  population  which  you  cannot  have  without. 
You  will  soon  have  school-houses,  and  perhaps 
colleges  after  a  while." 

"Yes,  stranger,  that's  the  very  thing.  Let  'em 
git  a  skull-house,  an'  its  good-bye,  spinniii  wheel ! 
No  more  ho'made  jeans  ;  nothin'  but  books  an' 
romancin'." 


THE  JERKS.  107 

"Are  you  opposed  to  books  ? "  Sinclair  ventured 
to  inquire. 

"  In  course  I  ain't,"  said  the  man.  "  I  don't  say 
that,  but  —  I  can  put  a  ball  through  the  centre, 
sixty  yards,  ten  times,  to  any  Yankee  skule-master's 
once.     They  don't  know  a  b'ar  from  a  bugaboo." 

"  Still,  my  dear  sir,  the  country  would  make 
poor  progress  without  schools." 

"  Yes,  that  may  all  be  true,  stranger,  as  you  say ; 
but  what's  the  use  of  progress  .''  there's  'Squire 
Jones'  family :  I  hain't  nothin'  agin  'em,  but  they 
believe  in  progress,  —  skules,  'cademies,  and  all 
that.  Their  gal  Jane  lets  her  mother  work  like  a 
nigger,  week  in  and  week  out,  so  as  she  may  look 
nice  and  keep  her  hands  soft, — that's  progress. 
And  that  same  gal  turns  up  her  nose  at  a  young- 
ster because  he  wears  a  hunting-shirt,  —  that's  pro- 
gress. I  knew  Jones  the  first  time  he  ever  seen 
broadcloth  in  his  life  :  now  look  at  him  ! " 

"  Still,  I  am  told  Mr.  Jones  is  a  very  good  man," 
said  Sinclair. 

"  Oh,  yes  ;  Jones  is  a  good  enough  fellow.  He 
used  to  put  a  ball  in  a  tin  cup  at  a  hundred  yards  ; 
but  progress  spiled  Jones  as  well  as  his  gal.  He 
sent  that  gal  Jane  to  Vincennes,  to  the  'cademy 
there,  and  paid  twenty  dollars  to  have  her  learn  to 
make  music  on  a  gatarr." 


I08  BROUGHT  TO  BAY. 

"  To  be  able  to  play  the  guitar,"  said  Sinclair, 
"is  a  very  pretty  accomplishment." 

"  It  don't  accomplish  nothin'  with  her,  but  make 
a  fool  of  the  gal.  She  would  rather  turn,  turn,  turn 
on  her  banjo  than  help  her  poor  old  mother  about 
the  house." 

Sinclair  gave  up  the  argument,  satisfied  that  he 
had  found  a  genuine  frontiersman  who  would  retreat 
before  nothing  but  sunrise  and  civilization. 

On  the  next  morning  the  meeting  was  brought 
to  a  close.  The  preacher  on  "  the  Shawneetown 
Circuit,"  who  resided  for  the  present  at  a  settle- 
ment half  way  between  Shawneetown  and  another 
on  the  Wabash,  thirty  miles  off,  invited  Sinclair, 
Mrs.  Rose,  and  Katy  to  go  with  him  and  to  remain 
for  a  few  days,  until  the  water  should  abate  at 
Shawneetown.  The  invitation  was  accepted,  and 
a  ride  of  ten  miles  brought  them  to  the  humble 
home  of  Rev.  Wesley  Hobart. 


CHAPTER   IX. 

SERVING   GOD    ON   TRUST. 

'T^HE  residence  of  Mr.  Hobart  was  a  small,  log- 
built  house,  with  a  loft  above,  in  which  a  part 
of  the  family  had  their  beds.  It  was  situated  on 
the  brow  of  an  eminence,  on  the  outskirts  of  a 
heavy  forest,  and  overlooking  a  beautiful  plain  in 
front.  The  plain,  —  a  small  prairie  of  a  hundred 
acres  or  less,  was  bounded  in  the  distance,  on  the 
northeast,  by  the  Little  Wabash  River,  a  romantic 
stream,  which  gathers  its  waters  up  in  the  southern 
border  of  the  great  prairies,  and  among  the  forest 
trees  between  these  and  the  true  Wabash,  and  dis- 
charges them  into  that  stream  a  short  distance  above 
its  confluence  with  the  Ohio,  and  it  ran  merrily  along 
on  that  day  as  if  nothing  but  health  and  happiness 
were  to  be  found  on  its  borders.  From  that  little 
log-house  on  the  hill,  — the  frontier  parsonage,  — 
the  stream  could  be  seen  running  off  to  the  east- 
ward, and  disappearing  in  a  distant  forest  of  tall 
cypress  trees.  The  little  prairie  in  front  of  the 
parsonage  was  dotted  with  ten  or  fifteen  log-houses, 


no  BROUGHT  TO  BAY. 

most  of  them  but  one  story  high,  and  consisting  of 
a  single  apartment.  The  high  ground  on  which 
the  parsonage  stood  continued  back  in  a  southwest 
direction  for  many  miles,  covered  with  a  tall  forest, 
and  broken  into  numerous  hills  and  valleys.  As 
the  party  who  accompanied  the  preacher  home 
approached  the  little  settlement,  and  had  pointed 
out  to  them  the  parsonage  on  the  hill,  they  were 
impressed  with  the  romantic  beauty  of  the  place. 
It  was  at  that  lovely  season  when  the  expiring 
year  in  that  region  assumes  a  thousand  hues  of 
beauty.  The  oaks,  whose  tall  tops  shaded  the 
little  house  upon  the  hill,  had  doffed  their  deep- 
green  hue  and  put  on  a  livery  of  scarlet  shaded 
deeply  with  brown.  The  maples  had  shed  much 
of  their  foliage  at  the  first  frost,  and  the  yellow 
leaves  were  carpeting  the  ground  around  their 
trunks.  The  sumach  shone  out  in  a  suit  of  mot- 
tled scarlet  and  gold,  and  the  whole  forest  was 
rich  in  the  variegated  tints  of  early  autumn.  Wild 
grapes  were  hanging  in  clusters  from  the  trailing 
vines  ;  and  a  soft,  balmy  odor  filled  the  breezes 
which  came  from  the  forest  hills.  It  was  one  of 
those  calm  and  gentle  days  in  the  Indian  summer, 
when  a  hazy  dimness  pervades  the  atmosphere, 
and  all  nature  seems  to  be  resting  in  beauty. 
"  If  I  should  give  an  opinion  of  the  delightful 


SERVING   GOD   ON  TRUST.  \\\ 

spot,"  said  Sinclair  to  the  preacher  just  before  the 
party  entered  the  house,  "  I  should  say  it  must  be 
the  very  abode  of  health." 

"  You  will  find  how  nearly  you  have  guessed," 
was  the  preacher's  reply.  "  There  is  the  doctor 
coming  up  to  the  house  now.  I  fear  that  some  of 
my  family  are  sick." 

They  waited  a  moment  for  the  doctor  to  come 
up.  He  was  introduced  as  Doctor  Hains  ;  and  all 
entered  the  preacher's  door  together.  Mr.  Hobart 
addressed  his  wife  hastily,  and  as  he  extended  his 
hand  asked  anxiously  who  was  sick. 

"Oh,  no  one,"  said  the  wife  encouragingly. 
"Elizabeth  and  Sarah  have  the  ague  :  that's  all." 

"That  is  all !''  responded  the  preacher,  looking 
toward  Sinclair  with  a  sorry  smile.  He  then 
introduced  his  companion  as  a  young  gentleman 
from  New  Orleans,  a  friend  of  Mr.  Rose's  family, 
with  whom  she  was  already  acquainted. 

"  What  think  you  of  your  judgment  now,  friend 
Sinclair  1  Here  are  two  subjects  for  the  doctor 
under  one  roof,"  said  the  preacher. 

"  Rather  an  unpropitious  beginning,  I  admit," 
replied  Sinclair ;  "  but  I  trust  this  is  something 
unusual." 

"  It  is  rather  unusual  for  my  family  to  have  but 
two  cases  of  ague  at  once,"  responded  Mr,  Hobart. 


112  BROUGHT  TO  BAY. 

"Well,"  said  Sinclair,  "down  on  that  beautiful 
plain,  —  how  is  it  there  ?  " 

"  How  is  it,  Doctor  ? "  asked  Hobart,  well  know- 
ing what  the  reply  would  be. 

"  Much  worse  than  up  here,"  said  the  doctor. 
"  There  is  less  ague  at  this  house  every  year  than 
at  any  other  in  the  settlement." 

A  pale,  feeble  girl  now  came  down  the  rude 
ladder  from  the  loft  above.  She  was  shaking 
violently  with  ague,  and  her  jaws  rattled  involun- 
tarily together. 

"  Elizabeth,  my  daughter,"  said  the  father,  as  he 
printed  a  kiss  on  her  cold  cheek,  "  I  am  sorry  to 
see  your  chill  back  again." 

The  girl  took  a  seat  by  the  fire,  where  the 
mother  was  preparing  the  evening  meal,  and 
approached  so  near  in  the  vain  effort  to  warm  her 
shivering  limbs,  that  it  appeared  as  if  the  skin 
must  have  been  burned  from  her  hands.  She  was 
about  fifteen  years  old,  naturally  of  slight  frame, 
reduced  by  the  ague  almost  to  a  skeleton.  Her 
jet  black  eyes  were  rendered  yet  darker  in  ap- 
pearance by  the  pallor  of  her  skin ;  and  her  hair, 
from  the  same  contrast,  appeared  of  an  inky  black- 
ness. Notwithstanding  her  suffering  from  fever 
and  ague  for  months,  there  were  still  lingering 
traits  of  beauty  about  her,  which  impressed  Sin- 


SERVING   GOD   ON  TRUST. 


113 


clair  as  indicating  greater  culture  than  he  expected 
to  find  in  so  wild  a  country. 

The  doctor  examined  the  patient,  left  medicine 
for  her ;  and  then  walking  alone  up  the  ladder  to 
the  loft  above,  as  much  at  home  as  if  in  his  own 
family,  he  there  examined  the  other  patient,  left 
medicine  with  directions  for  its  use,  and  returned 
to  the  room  below. 

"  How  is  my  little  Sarah,  Doctor } "  asked  Mr. 
Hobart. 

"  Sally's  chill  was  pretty  hard,  but  came  on  an 
hour  later  to-day  than  yesterday.  She  will  hardly 
have  more  than  two  or  three  more,"  was  the  reply. 

"  Did  you  leave  medicine } "  inquired  Mr.  Hobart. 

"  I  left  '  barks '  enough  for  ten  days,"  replied  the 
doctor.  "  I  am  going  twenty-five  miles  to  the  Mc- 
Lean settlement  to-morrow,  and  shall  not  be  back 
till  next  day.  Mr.  Sinclair,  I  should  be  pleased  to 
spend  some  time  with  you ;  but  you  will  excuse 
me,  —  1  have  quite  a  number  to  see  to-night. 
Good-bye,  sir.     Good-bye  all." 

And  Doctor  Hains  started  on  his  mission,  —  a 
mission  which  in  a  new  country  requires  as  much 
self-sacrifice  as  that  of  the  Christian  ministers. 

Mrs.  Hobart  busied  herself  with  the  preparation 
of  supper.  The  poor  girl  was  still  shaking  with 
ague,  and  Sinclair  began  to  feel  a  great  interest  in 


114 


BROUGHT  TO  BAY. 


this  disease,  which  appeared  to  have  a  victim 
in  every   family. 

"  The  burden  of  doctors'  bills  must  be  considera- 
ble," said  he ;  "  and  I  should  think,  Mr.  Hobart, 
that  the  doctor  was  quite  certain  to  accumulate 
wealth." 

"  We  preachers  are  at  least  exempt  from  that," 
said  Mr.  Hobart ;  "  though  it  does  appear  as  if  we 
had  more  than  our  fair  share  of  disease  to  struggle 
with." 

"  And  how  do  you  avoid  doctors'  bills  ? " 

"  No  doctor  would  think  of  charging  a  minister," 
replied  Mr.  Hobart.  "  I  never  knew  one  to  do  so 
in  the  West ;  and  in  fact  if  one  should  do  so  he 
would  soon  have  to  leave  the  settlement.  My 
family  have  taken  nearly  five  pounds  of  Peruvian 
barks  in  the  last  year,  —  worth  a  dollar  a  pound, — 
all  furnished  by  the  good  Doctor  Hains ;  and  if  I 
should  ask  him  for  his  bill  he  would  be  offended. 
As  to  the  doctors  getting  rich,  I  think  you  are 
mistaken  there  also.  The  people  are  too  poor  and 
have  too  much  sickness  to  be  able  to  pay  much  in 
the  way  of  doctors'  bills.  No,  no  ;  doctors  get  rich 
only  among  a  rich  people ;  and  those  are  to  be 
found  in  the  healthful  regions,  not  the  sickly 
ones," 

'^  Five  pounds  of  barks,  did  you  say  ? " 


SERVIAG   GOD    ON   TRUST. 


115 


"Yes,"  replied  the  preacher.  "  I  think  we  have 
used  fully  five  pounds  during  the  year." 

"  Why,  my  dear  sir,  this  is  horrible  !  And  will 
nothing  do  but  the  eternal  bark,  bark,  bark.-* 
How  many   have   you   in   your   family } " 

"  We  have  one  son  and  two  daughters  :  it's  just 
a  pound  apiece." 

By  this  time  the  "chill"  had  nearly  passed  off 
the  daughter,  who  sat  by  the  fire  ;  and  as  the  fever 
began  to  rise,  she  left  the  fireplace  and  took  a  seat 
near  the  door  to  obtain  the  benefit  of  the  cool 
evening  air.     She  now  joined  in  the  conversation. 

"I  have  taken  a  pound  and  a  quarter  myself, 
Mr,  Sinclair,"  she  said.  "  How  much  more  I  shall 
need  I  cannot  guess." 

"Do  you  have  ague  aU  the  time.''"  inquired 
Sinclair. 

"  Oh,  no,  sir,"  said  she  ;  "  not  more  than  half  the 
time.  It  is  beginning  to  wear  out,  too.  I  do  not 
have  it  so  bad  as  formerly." 

"Ah,  my  daughter,"  said  the  preacher  in  a  tone 
of  sadness,  "  it  is  you  are  wearing  out ;  and,  unlike 
the  terrible  disease,  passing  away  never  to  return." 

The  girl  came  and  sat  upon  his  knee  and  threw 
her  arms  about  his  neck. 

"  Don't  talk  so  sadly,  my  dear  father,"  said  she. 
"The  doctor  says  I  shall  be  more  healthy  than 
ever  when  I  get  well." 


ir6  BROUGHT   TO  BAY. 

"  Still  living  on  hope,  Elizabeth ! "  said  the 
father.  "  Bless  God  for  hope !  It  has  borne  us 
up,  Mr.  Sinclair,  when  all  but  God  was  gone." 

Just  now  the  other  daughter  came  down  from 
the  loft,  and  hastened  with  a  kiss  to  her  father's 
side.  She  was  twelve  years  old,  of  fair  com- 
plexion, and  with  light  hair  and  blue  eyes,  like  her 
mother. 

"  And  here  is  my  blue-eyed  girl  with  cheeks  red- 
der than  ever  with  the  flush  of  fever.  How  do 
you  feel,  Sarah  ?"  said  the  father. 

"  My  head  is  still  aching,  father,"  said  the  girl, 
in  a  voice  of  silvery  tone,  which  instantly  re- 
minded Sinclair  of  the  lost  Virginia.  "  But,"  the 
child  added,  "  my  chill  was  very  slight." 

During  this  conversation,  Mrs.  Hobart  had  been 
silently  getting  ready  the  supper ;  and  having 
arranged  her  table  for  her  guests,  she  now  came 
forward  and  invited  them  to  partake. 

Mrs.  Hobart  was  a  lady  of  education  and  refine- 
ment. She  was  the  daughter  of  a  wealthy  gen- 
tleman living  near  Lexington,  in  Kentucky,  who 
had  discarded  her  because  she  persisted  in  being  a 
Methodist. 

Sixteen  years  before  she  had  been  married  to 
Mr.  Hobart,  and  had  given  up  the  life  of  ease  and 
luxury  in  which  she  had  grown  up,  to   share  the 


SERVING   GOD   ON  TRUST.  wj 

toils  and  trials  of  a  preacher's  life  in  the  wilder- 
ness. She  had  possessed  very  considerable  per- 
sonal beauty,  before  time  and  the  trials  of  a  frontier 
life  had  made  their  ravages ;  and  even  yet,  though 
she  was  beyond  the  meridian  of  life,  her  blue  eyes 
were  as  radiant  with  the  light  of  the  soul  within 
as  in  her  palmy  days  of  youth.  She  was  a  woman 
of  great  fortitude,  exhibiting  that  admirable  com- 
bination of  gentleness  and  courage,  of  suscepti- 
bility and  great  power  of  endurance,  —  which  so 
frequently  strikes  us  as  incompatible,  and  makes 
us  wonder  how  such  apparently  opposite  traits  can 
be  mingled  in  the  same  character.  There  was 
really  no  incompatibility  about  her,  however.  The 
mere  mortal  was  feeble,  shrinking  from  every 
touch  of  injury  or  evil ;  but  the  immortal  defied 
all  the  ills  of  the  present,  and  looked  with 
undimmed  hope  to  a  better  future.  And  this  ever- 
trusting,  never-dying  hope  had  sustained  her,  and 
enabled  her  to  console  her  despairing  husband 
when  he  would  otherwise  have  fallen  by  the  way- 
side of  life. 

The  evening  meal,  of  which  she  now  called  on 
her  guests  to  partake,  was  spread  upon  a  cloth  of 
domestic  linen  white  as  driven  snow;  the  simple 
fare  had  been  prepared  by  her  own  delicate  hands, 
and  everything  had  that  air  of  exquisite  neatness 


Il8  BROUGHT  TO  BAY. 

which  gives  such  an  inviting  charm  to  the  plainest 
food. 

The  bread  was  made  of  Indian  meal,  but  the 
modest  little  "dodgers"  were  baked  precisely  to 
that  exquisite  tint  of  golden  brown,  so  difficult  to 
attain,  and  so  necessary  to  the  finest  flavor.  The 
tea,  to  be  sure,  was  not  the  product  of  the  Celes- 
tial Empire  ;  but  its  rich,  amber-colored  stream,  as 
it  poured  from  the  steaming  urn,  sent  an  aroma 
through  the  apartment  which  placed  the  Western 
sassafras  on  a  par  with  its  Oriental  rival.  The 
sugar  had  never  been  submitted  to  the  refining 
influence  of  bullock's  blood  and  gum,  but  had  been 
prepared  from  the  maple-tree  by  her  own  hands. 
The  hominy  was  white  as  snow,  and  the  plump 
grains,  instead  of  being  boiled  to  a  pulp  and 
spoiled,  lay  in  the  white  dish  distinct  as  hail- 
stones ;  while  the  delicately  cut  slices  of  dried 
venison  lay  so  lightly  on  the  green-edged  plate 
that  the  rosy  light  played  through  them  most 
invitingly. 

The  whole  party  did  ample  justice  to  the  supper, 
not  excepting  the  two  daughters,  whose  cheeks 
still  wore  the  flush  of  intermittent  fever. 

"  I  am  pleased  to  see  that  your  daughters  have 
an  appetite,"  remarked  Sinclair,  "and  hope  it 
bodes  an  early  recovery." 


SERVING   GOD   ON  TRUST. 


119 


"  Ah,  my  dear  sir,"  said  Mr.  Hobart,  "that  is  one 
of  the  subterfuges  of  this  fell  demon! — for  there 
seems  to  be  a  very  demon  about  it,  —  first  shaking 
the  breath  from  its  victims,  then  calling  upon  them 
to  eat  and  recover  strength  for  another  ordeal. 
I  believe  none  of  its  promises." 

Mrs.  Hobart  replied  to  her  husband's  remarks 
with  a  smile. 

"  You  see,  Mrs.  Rose,"  said  she,  "  my  husband 
still  looks  on  the  shady  side." 

"Yes,"  replied  Mrs.  Rose;  "that's  his  way,  I 
suppose." 

"  Life  has  but  two  sides,"  said  the  preacher. 
"The  shady  side  is  mortality,  the  bright  one  is 
eternity.  Did  we  not  look  beyond  this  life  to  a 
better,  gloomy  indeed  would  be  our  existence." 

"Still,  Wesley,"  said  the  wife,  "why  should  we 
seek  out  all  the  gloomier  paths  to  the  better  world, 
and  neglect  all  the  flowers  which  a  kind  Provi- 
dence strews  by  the  wayside  .''  " 

"Yes,  yes  ;  I  know,"  said  the  preacher.  "Were 
the  world  filled  with  such  as  my  own  dear  wife, 
we  should  forget  our  destiny." 

The  preacher  spoke  in  such  a  tone  of  sadness 
that  his  guests  were  touched  by  the  same  feeling, 
and  but  little  more  was  said  to  the  close  of  the 
meal.     While  the  reader  imagines  the  wife  remov- 


120  BROUGHT  TO  BAY. 

ing  the  dishes  from  the  table,  he  may  as  well  gain 
a  better  insight  into  the  character  of  her  very 
kind  but  very  despondent  husband,  the  preacher. 

Wesley  Hobart  was  forty  years  old,  of  fair  pro- 
portions, and  of  an  industrious  though  sluggish 
disposition.  His  complexion  was  dark  and  his  hair 
and  eyes  strikingly  black.  Although  of  untiring 
perseverance,  his  thoughts  and  movements  were 
slow,  and  all  he  did  deliberate.  He  added  to  a 
great  firmness  of  purpose  and  perseverance  in 
action,  a  distrust  of  the  future  and  a  tendency  to 
despond,  which  required  the  constant  aid  of  his 
religious  sentiments  to  bear  him  up.  He  was  a 
native  of  Virginia,  a  preacher  of  religion  in  early 
life,  and  had  joined  the  Methodists  at  a  time 
when  they  were  in  some  degree  a  despised  sect. 
Shortly  afterward  he  was  impelled  from  a  strong 
sense  of  duty  to  migrate  to  Kentucky  for  the  pur- 
pose of  preaching  the  gospel.  At  Lexington  he 
saw  and  married  his  wife,  with  a  warning  from  her 
father  that  he  would  disown  and  disinherit  his 
daughter.  He  found  a  kind  and  dutiful  wife,  and 
he  loved  her  most  devotedly ;  but  the  trials  he  had 
brought  upon  her  by  introducing  her  to  the  life  of 
a  preacher  on  the  frontier  had  been  to  him  ever 
since  a  constant  source  of  annoyance  and  sorrow. 
The  wife  herself  was  always  hopeful,   and  never 


SERVING   GOD   ON  TRUST.  121 

murmured ;  but  this  only  added  to  his  regret. 
His  abiHty  as  a  preacher  was  but  moderate,  but 
his  labors  of  love  among  his  people  more  than 
compensated  for  any  deficiency  in  rhetoric  or  ora- 
tory. For  fifteen  years  he  had  never  failed  to 
attend  the  annual  Conferences  of  his  church, 
though  frequently  compelled  to  go  great  distances 
to  reach  them,  and  under  the  most  discouraging 
circumstances.  During  the  last  eighteen  months 
he  had  been  suffering  frequent  attacks  of  ague  and 
fever.  He  had  bravely  struggled  on,  however,  and 
preached  at  all  his  regular  appointments,  some- 
times in  the  midst  of  the  chill  or  the  succeeding 
fever.  He  was  a  devoted  minister,  a  kind  hus- 
band and  father,  and  was  universally  esteemed  for 
his   consistent  piety.     Such  was  Wesley  Hobart, 

When  supper  was  over,  and  the  preacher  with 
his  family  and  guests  were  seated  together,  Mrs. 
Rose  and  Katy  both  inquired  for  Joseph,  the 
preacher's  son,  who  had  not  made  his  appearance 
since  his  father's  return. 

"Joseph  went  to  town  this  morning,"  said  the 
mother,  "  to  see  if  there  were  letters  for  us  at  the 
post-office." 

"  Do  you  send  all  the  way  to  Shawneetown } " 
inquired  Katy. 

"Oh,  yes,"  replied  Mrs.   Hobart, '"there  is  no 


122  BROUGHT  TO  BAY. 

Other  way,  that  is  the  nearest  post-office.  Four- 
teen miles  is  a  long  way  to  send  the  little  fellow  ; 
but  he  knows  the  road  and  has  often  gone  oefore." 

"  How  old  is  your  son  ?  "  inquired  Sinclair. 

"Joseph  is  ten  years  old,"  replied  the  mother. 

"Poor  boy,"  said  Mr.  Hobart,  "it  is  time  he 
should  be  home.     I  fear  something  detains  him." 

"Why,  what  can  detain  him,  dear.-*"  said  the 
mother. 

"Well,  the  water  may  still  be  up,  so  that  he  has 
had  to  ferry  from  the  hills." 

"  It  is  certainly  a  long  distance  to  send  for  your 
letters,"  said  Sinclair,  "  and  for  so  small  a  lad  to  go 
too.     Is  it  not  already  night  } " 

"The  moon  will  shine,"  said  Mrs.  Hobart,  "he 
will  soon  be  here." 

"  Does  he  have  the  terrible  ague  too } "  inquired 
Sinclair, 

"  Not  for  more  than  a  month  past,"  replied  the 
mother. 

"What  a  scourge  it  is!"  remarked  Sinclair. 

The  preacher  heaved  a  deep  sigh.  He  had  been 
sorely  tried  by  the  disease  in  his  family,  and  sel- 
dom let  pass  an  opportunity  to  visit  upon  "the 
demon  "  (as  he  termed  it)  his  malediction. 

"  Mr.  Sinclair,"  said  he,  "  we  have  suffered  more 
by  the  demon  than  tongue  can  tell." 


SERVING   GOD   ON  TRUST. 


123 


"Oh,  no,"  said  Mrs.  Hobart.  "We  have  suffered 
very  much,  truly ;  but  I  know  a  tongue  which  can 
tell  all  about  it." 

"  But  isn't  it  a  sad,  sad  story  t  " 

"  Yes,  it  is  both  a  sad  one  and  a  long  one,"  said 
the  wife  ;  "  but  I  never  knew  how  much  I  loved 
my  husband,  my  children,  or  my  Saviour,  till  the 
ague  came  among  us.  I  can  trace  the  kind  hand 
of  Providence  through  it  all.  For  three  months, 
Mrs.  Freeman,  every  soul  in  the  family  had  the 
ague ;  but  never  in  all  that  time  were  we  all  down 
at  the  same  hour." 

"Think  of  that,  sir,"  said  the  preacher,  but  in  a 
tone  which  did  not  partake  of  the  same  trustful 
hope  as  his  wife's.  "  I  preached  from  one  appoint- 
ment to  another,  suffering  under  its  scourge,  leav- 
ing my  wife  and  three  little  ones  at  home  all 
stricken  by  the  same  disease." 

"  Still,  when  a  part  were  down,  others  would  be 
up  to  wait  on  them  ;  sometimes  Elizabeth,  Sarah, 
and  I  were  all  sick  at  once,  but  then  Joseph's  chill 
was  sure  to  be  off,  and  he  waited  on  us  all  so  ten- 
derly. The  dear  boy  would  come  to  my  bedside  and 
ask,  '  Mother,  what  shall  I  do  for  your  poor  head  .-' ' 
It  appeared  to  do  him  good  even  to  give  us  a  drink 
of  water.  Sometimes  all  were  down  but  Sarah,  and 
the  sweet  child  would  try  so  hard  *  to  get  mother 


124 


BROUGHT  TO  BAY. 


and  sister  a  nice  cup  of  tea,'  as  she  would  say. 
The  next  day,  perhaps,  sJie  would  be  down,  and  it 
would  be  Elizabeth's  turn  to  nurse.  Lizzie  is 
always  cheerful,  and  can  almost  charm  away  the 
chill  with  her  hopeful  words.  Oh,  yes,"  she  con- 
tinued, "  terrible  as  it  is,  the  ague  may  be  sanctified 
to  our  hearts  for  good." 

"  Your  heart,  my  dear  wife,"  said  the  preacher, 
"  seems  to  throw  a  gleam  of  sunshine  upon  the 
darkest  passages  of  life.  I  fear,  Mr.  Sinclair,  my 
religion  is  only  a  partial  one :  it  has  never  been 
fully  able  to  overcome  the  weakness  of  the  flesh. 
With  my  wife  it  is  deep  and  thorough  ;  not  only 
does  it  enable  her  to  look  with  the  spirit's  eye 
through  hope  to  a  better  world,  but  it  seems  to 
soothe  like  a  heavenly  opiate  all  the  ills  of  this 
mortal  frame." 

"There  comes  brother!"  exclaimed  the  sisters 
simultaneously,  as  the  sound  of  horses'  hoofs  was 
heard  approaching  the  door. 

It  had  been  many  years,  —  years  full  of  tribula- 
tion, —  since  Mrs.  Hobart  had  received  a  letter 
from  her  father,  though  she  occasionally  heard 
from  her  kindred  through  the  letters  of  a  sister 
still  in  Kentucky.  When,  therefore,  Joseph  handed 
her  a  letter  postmarked  "  Lexington,"  and  she 
recognized  her  father's  well-known  hand  in  the 


SERVING   GOD    ON  TRUST.  125 

superscription,  she  eagerly  broke  the  seal  to  know 
if  her  father,  —  to  whom  she  had  always  been  de- 
votedly attached,  —  had  really  so  far  relented  as 
to  write  to  his  cast-off  daughter.  And  when  she 
discovered  that  such  was  the  fact,  and  that  he 
addressed  her  as  his  dearest  daughter,  the  tears 
burst  from  her  eyes,  —  tears  which  long  and  cruel 
neglect  had  never  been  able  to  wring  from  her,  — 
and  she  asked  her  guest's  indulgence  while  she 
retired  to  the  loft  above  to  read  the  long-hoped-for 
letter. 

"Well,  Joseph,  my  son,"  said  the  preacher,  "you 
have  had  a  tedious  journey  to-day." 

"  O  father,"  replied  the  boy,  not  heeding  his 
parent's  words,  "  I  saw  the  Pigeon  Roost !  There 
were  millions  and  millions  and  inillions  of  them.  I 
have  more  of  them  on  Old  Gray  at  the  door,  than 
we  can  eat  in  a  week." 

Joseph  had  inherited  his  mother's  disposition  to 
find  enjoyment  in  everything,  and  was  not  at  all 
disposed  to  look  on  the  shady  side  of  life ;  he  had 
seen  the  wild  pigeons  passing  in  innumerable  hosts 
to  their  nightly  roost,  and  the  sight  more  than  re- 
paid him  for  his  long  ride  to  the  post-office.  As 
he  passed  the  outskirts  of  the  roost,  the  kind  peo- 
ple had  supplied  him  with  as  many  of  the  plump, 
fat   birds   as   he   could  carry.     In   answer  to  his 


126  BROUGHT  TO  BAY. 

father's  remark  he  hastened  to  the  door,  and  re- 
turned with  his  trophies.  As  the  girls  retired  to 
prepare  some  of  them  for  breakfast  on  the  coming 
morning,  Sinclair  turned  to  the  preacher  and  re- 
marked :  — 

"  I  think,  Mr.  Hobart,  that  the  disposition  to  be 
happy  or  unhappy,  sad  or  cheerful,  is  in  a  great 
measure  constitutional,  and  that  it  may  descend 
from  parent  to  child.  All  of  your  children,  for 
example,  appear  to  inherit  your  good  lady's  dis- 
position to  view  all  things  in  the  best  light." 

"I  believe  you  are  right,"  said  the  preacher, 
"though  it  required  many  years'  observation  to 
satisfy  me  of  the  fact.  It  has  been  my  sad  priv- 
ilege, Mr.  Sinclair,  to  witness  the  death-scene  of  a 
large  number  of  persons,  and  the  various  manner 
in  which  men  pass  from  mortality  to  the  hidden 
world  is  a  profound  mystery,  without  some  such 
explanation.  There  was  old  Mr.  Hathaway,  on  the 
river  ;  to  me  his  death  was  absolutely  terrible,  but 
he  regarded  it  merely  as  a  physical  phenomenon  of 
little  importance.  He  was  truly  an  unbeliever,  if 
ever  there  was  such  a  man.  I  tried  by  all  the 
means  in  my  power  to  awaken  within  him  a  sense 
of  his  condition,  but  all  in  vain.  When  I  told  him 
he  was  certainly  dying,  he  answered,  'yes,  the 
frail  old  machine  is  almost  worn  out.'     'And  yet/ 


SERVING   GOD   ON  TRUST.  127 

I  would  reply,  "  you  have  no  hope  of  immortality.' 
*  Oh,  yes,'  he  would  reply,  "  I  shall  live  on  in  my 
children.' 

"  And  that  was  his  hope.  The  mortal  form  which 
still  held  his  immortal  soul  was  to  his  mind  a 
machine  ;  and  he  was  immortal  only  in  his  off- 
spring. And  this  man  died  calmly  and  peacefully. 
May  God  have  mercy  on  his  soul." 

The  preacher's  voice  trembled  with  the  deep 
earnestness  of  his  prayer. 

"I  knew  a  man,"  said  Sinclair,  "who,  when  told 
that  he  was  dying,  turned  to  his  wife  and  said, 
'  Well,  Sally,  the  jig's  up  ;  it's  no  use  crying.' 
They  were  the  last  words  he  uttered." 

Early  next  morning,  after  a  hurried  meal,  Sin- 
clair, Mrs.  Rose,  and  Katy  started  on  their  return 
to  Shawneetown.  Before  following  them,  let  us 
return  to  the  preacher  and  his  family,  and  learn 
the  termination  of  a  notable  episode. 

It  is  probable  that  the  sorest  trial  which  can 
befall  a  sensitive  mind  is  one  which  places  all  the 
social  feelings  at  variance  with  the  religious  senti- 
ments,—  the  love  of  husband  or  wife  and  children, 
and  all  that  relates  to  their  temporal  welfare,  on 
the  one  hand,  and  the  stern  dictates  of  religious 
duty  on  the  other,  opposing  that  welfare  and  de- 
manding its  sacrifice.    Such  was  the  conflict  which 


128  BROUGHT  TO  BAY. 

arose  in  the  mind  of  Mrs.  Hobart  on  reading  the 
letter  from  her  unrelenting  father.  When  he  cast 
her  off  for  joining  the  Methodists,  and  setting  his 
will  at  defiance  by  uniting  her  destiny  with  that 
of  a  preacher  of  the  sect  he  despised,  he  had  de- 
termined to  cast  her  off  absolutely  and  forever ; 
and  although  for  years  his  naturally  ardent  paren- 
tal feelings  had  prompted  him  to  relent,  still  he 
had  maintained  an  unbroken  silence  toward  her. 

As  he  grew  older,  however,  his  parental  feelings 
gained  the  ascendancy,  and  for  years  he  had  longed 
for  an  opportunity  to  reconcile  his  pride  and  his 
affection.  His  only  other  child,  a  daughter,  still 
unmarried,  was  fast  hurrying  to  a  consumptive's 
grave ;  and  he  felt  that  his  home  would  soon  be 
left  desolate.  He  knew  through  Mrs.  Hobart's 
letters  to  her  sister  all  the  history  of  her  priva- 
tion and  suffering,  and  especially  of  the  consolation 
she  had  found  in  her  kind  and  dutiful  children. 
At  length  he  could  bear  it  no  longer.  His  heart 
became  fixed  upon  his  grandson  Joseph,  and  in  a 
moment  of  strong  emotion  he  wrote  to  his 
daughter,  for  the  first  time  in  years.  It  was 
this  letter  which  Joseph  had  brought  from  the 
post-office  at  Shawneetown,  and  which  Mrs.  Ho- 
bart had  retired   to  the  loft  to  read. 

The  letter  opened  in  the  kindest  manner,  and  as 


SERVING   GOD   ON  TRUST. 


129 


if  nothing  had  occurred  to  interrupt  the  relation 
naturally  existing  between  them,  invited  the  whole 
family  to  return  to  Lexington  and  enjoy  her  father's 
bounty,  and  referred  to  his  grandchildren  as  his 
future  heirs.  After  the  signature  at  the  bottom 
was  the  following  postscript :  — 

"  There  will  no  longer  be  any  necessity  for  your 
husband's  preaching,  and  I  of  course  shall  expect 
him  to  give  it  up." 

When  Mrs.  Hobart  had  opened  the  letter,  her 
first  sensation  was  one  of  surprise  that  her 
father  had  at  last  written  to  her  in  kindness. 
Then,  as  she  read  farther,  her  heart  swelled  with 
gratitude,  and  she  was  nearly  overcome  with  emo- 
tion. Could  it  be  possible  that  the  long  estrange- 
ment was  over ;  that  penury  had  done  its  work ; 
and  that  she  was  about  to  see  her  dear  children 
placed  above  the  reach  of  want,  and  happy  in  the 
smiles  of  a  grandfather  whose  heart  she  knew  by 
her  own  early  days  was  full  of  kindness,  notwith- 
standing the  cruej  banishment  which  had  fallen 
upon  her  own  head .-'  The  thought  almost  ren- 
dered her  delirious  with  gladness.  While  in  this 
state  of  feeling  her  eye  fell  upon  the  postscript. 
She  glanced  at  it ;  then,  as  if  doubting  her  eyes, 
re-read  it  carefully  word  by  word,  and  in  an  audible 
voice.     The  letter  then  fell  from  her  hand,  and  her 


I30 


BROUGHT  TO  BAY. 


whole  frame  was  seized  with  trembling.  Large 
drops  of  sweat,  cold  and  clammy,  broke  out  upon 
her  temples,  and  a  sense  of  some  impending  and 
terrible  danger  took  possession  of  her. 

When  she  was  sufficiently  recovered  to  collect 
her  scattered  thoughts,  she  bowed  herself  in 
prayer,  and  supplicated  the  Heavenly  Father 
whom  she  so  devotedly  worshipped  to  deliver  her 
from  temptation. 

When  Mr.  Hobart  ascended  to  the  loft  he  found 
his  wife  suffering  from  the  effects  of  her  extreme 
agitation.  To  his  anxious  inquiries  as  to  the  cause 
of  her  trouble,  she  replied  only  by  putting  her 
father's  letter  into  his  hands.  He  read  it  through 
in  silence ;  though  he  felt,  if  possible,  even  more 
deeply  than  did  his  wife,  the  sore  temptation  which 
was  thrown  in  his  way,  not  a  sound  escaped  his 
lips.  He  knelt  beside  his  wife  and  communed  in 
silence  with  his  Maker. 

After  a  short  time  Mrs.  Hobart  rose,  calmly 
held  her  father's  letter  in  the  flame  of  the  candle, 
and  after  seeing  it  burn  to  ashes,  said,  "  God  is 
still  with  us.  Let  us  retire."  Not  another  word 
was  spoken  by  either  that  night. 

Next  morning,  when  the  preacher  came  down  to 
breakfast,  he  found  his  wife  moving  about  her 
household  duties  with   an   expression   of    counte- 


SERVING   GOD   ON  TRUST. 


131 


nance  which  appeared  almost  angelic.  Not  a  trace 
of  sorrow,  not  the  least  lingering  mark  of  the 
struggle  through  which  she  had  passed  on  the 
night  before,  was  to  be  seen.  She  spoke  to  her 
children  in  tones  of  cheerfulness  which  startled 
her  husband  from  the  intensity  of  their  calmness. 

Hobart  seated  himself  at  the  table  and  attempted 
to  eat.  But  the  thought  of  the  terrible  sacrifice 
which  that  delicate  and  feeble  woman  had  volun- 
tawly  made  for  him  and  for  the  Gospel's  sake 
made  him  almost  loathe  his  food.  His  thoughts 
wandered  back  over  the  long  years  of  tribulation 
she  had  borne  without  a  murmur  ;  the  loneliness, 
the  privation  and  sickness,  the  loss  of  home, 
father,  and  friends,  and  the  whole  train  of  temporal 
ills  which  had  befallen  her  since  her  lot  had  been 
cast  with  his.  He  thought  of  what  she  had  re- 
nounced,—  the  prospect  of  instant  and  complete 
relief  held  out  by  her  father's  letter,  —  ease  and 
luxury,  friends  and  home  for  her  children  ;  and  all 
for  him,  a  poor,  unworthy  Methodist  preacher! 
It  was  too  much ;  and  the  poor,  shattered  form 
was  unable  longer  to  bear  the  struggles  of  the 
agitated  soul  within.  He  left  the  table ;  reached 
a  chair ;  and  immediately  vomited  a  large  quantity 
of  blood,  almost  suffocating  from  its  profusion.  It 
lasted  only  a  minute,  but  so  exhausted  him  that  he 


132 


BROUGHT  TO  BAY. 


was  with  difficulty  able  to  make  his  way  to  the 
bed. 

The  doctor  was  immediately  sent  for,  and  the 
breakfast  hurried  away  untasted. 

The  preacher  beckoned  his  wife  to  his  bedside, 
and  taking  her  hand  in  his  said,  with  a  peculiar 
light  in  his  countenance, — 

"My  Father  calls.     I  am  going  home." 

"  O  my  dear  husband,"  said  the  wife,  "  I  hope 
you  will  soon  be  better." 

"  Yes,  dear  wife,"  said  he,  —  "a  few  hours,  at 
most,  and  no  ill  can  ever  reach  me  more.  Blessed 
be  God!  "Though  His  providence  may  be  in- 
scrutable, it  is  always  just  and  good." 

He  was  interrupted  by  another  hemorrhage. 
The  doctor  came  in ;  and  seeing  that  the  blood 
was  very  dark,  and  not  of  the  bright  red  he  had 
expected,  told  the  preacher  he  had  hopes  of  his 
recovery, 

"  You  are  very  kind.  Doctor,"  said  the  sufferer ; 
"but  my  hour  is  come.  All  remedy  will  be  un- 
availing." Then,  addressing  his  wife,  he  con- 
tinued :  "  It  was  all  a  terrible  mystery  how  a  just 
God  could  visit  you  with  affliction  for  my  sake. 
Oh,  it's  all  plain  now.  You  have  passed  the  fiery 
ordeal  in  triumph,  and  now  God  is  going  to  take 
me  to  Himself,  and  thus  send  you  and  our  little 


SERVING   GOD   ON  TRUST. 


133 


ones  to  the  abundance  and  protection  of  your 
father's  home," 

Seeing  his  wife  in  tears,  he  said,  "  Not  a  tear, — 
not  a  tear.  It  could  not  at  most  have  been  many 
years  before  my  labors  here  would  end,  and  then  I 
might  have  suffered  the  pangs  of  some  dreadful 
disease  ;  but  now  I  have  not  a  pain,  —  not  a  single 
pain." 

Attacks  of  hemoptysis  continued  to  occur,  and 
he  rapidly  lost  strength,  and  finally  conscious- 
ness. Before  this  occurred  he  had  called  his 
children  around  him  and  taken  an  affectionate 
leave  of  them,  telling  them  to  be  prepared  to 
follow  him  to  that  heavenly  mansion  to  which  he 
was  going. 

An  hour  or  two  before  his  death,  his  wife  ob- 
served that  his  sight  seemed  to  be  failing  him. 
She  took  his  hand  and  said,  — 

"  Your  sight  is  dim  ;  your  eyes  are  failing,  my 
husband." 

"  Oh,  no,"  he  replied  ;  "  they  are  only  looking 
inward  and  upward.  Oh,  the  ecstatic  vision  which 
breaks  upon  my  view ! " 

His  utterance  was  interrupted  by  the  spouting 
blood,  and  he  spoke  no  more.  But  a  calm  com- 
posure rested  on  his  countenance ;  and  pressing 
his   wife's   hand    to   the  last,  he   died   without   a 


134 


BROUGHT  TO  BAY. 


struggle.  The  wheel  was  broken  at  the  cistern, 
the  pitcher  was  broken  at  the  fountain,  and  the 
preacher  was  done  with  toil, 

A  few  days  after  the  death  of  her  husband, 
Mrs.  Hobart  disposed  of  the  few  household  goods 
of  any  value  which  she  possessed ;  and  with  her 
children  commenced  her  sad  journey  to  her  fa- 
ther's house. 


CHAPTER  X. 

"all     the     pigeons     in     the     world" AFTER 

THE    wilderness,     WHAT  ? 

/^^OING  from  the  house  of  Mr.  Hobart  to 
^-"^  Shawneetown,  the  route  of  Sinclair  and  his 
friends  lay  along  the  Indian  path  at  the  foot  of  the 
range  of  hills  which  borders  the  wide  "bottom" 
extending  for  some  distance  up  the  Wabash  to  the 
town,  where  it  sweeps  away  to  the  Saline  River, 
ten  miles  lower  down  the  Ohio.  The  waters  had 
so  far  subsided  as  to  offer  little  obstruction  to 
their  progress ;  but  their  way  was  obstructed  here 
and  there  by  large  piles  of  drift-wood  left  by  the 
receding  river.  When  they  reached  the  town, 
some  time  after  noon,  they  found  it  still  separated 
from  the  hills  by  running  water;  but  the  water 
was  not  deep,  and  with  the  boldness  of  dwellers 
on  the  frontier,  Mrs.  Rose  and  Katy  urged  their 
horses  into  the  stream,  telling  Sinclair  that  they 
knew  where  the  road  lay,  and  calling  upon  him  to 
follow. 

The  village  offered  a  curious  spectacle.     Almost 


136  BROUGHT   TO  BAY. 

the  whole  population  was  engaged  in  scrubbing 
out  the  houses.  The  river  had  left  a  sediment  of 
clay  and  sand  upon  the  floors  ;  and  the  people 
were  doing  their  best  to  make  the  same  stream 
act  as  chief  agent  in  removing  it.  Mops  and 
brooms  were  dashing  the  now  receding  waters 
upon  the  muddy  floors ;  and  a  ready  joke  or  a 
merry  laugh  could  be  heard  at  almost  every  door. 

When  the  party  arrived  at  home  old  Tabby  met 
them,  with  her  shining  face,  boasting  of  her  ex- 
ploits. 

"Tank  fortin',  Missus,"  said  Tabby,  "you's 
gwine  into  de  cleanes'  house  in  de  Territory.  I 
scrub  out  de  house  de  fus'  one  in  town ;  dey 
doesn't  git  ahead  o'  old  Tabby,  if  she  am  old." 

This  was  followed  by  a  chuckle  of  self-satisfac- 
tion, and  a  throwing  open  of  doors  to  let  in  the 
light,  and  enable  her  mistress  to  see  how  well  she 
had  performed  her  duty. 

"Dey  aint  gwine  to  git  ahead  o'  old  Tabby!" 
she  again  exclaimed.  Had  any  one  else  called  her 
old  Tabby,  she  would  have  been  mortally  offended. 
She  claimed  the  right  to  the  cognomen  of  "Aunt 
Tabby,"  though  so  far  as  any  one  knew  she  had 
neither  niece  nor  nephew  in  the  world. 

"It  does  young  massa  good  to  go  to  de  camp 
meetin'  ",  the  old  woman  continued,  as  the  party 


ALL    THE  PIGEONS  IN  THE    WORLD. 


m 


entered  and  seated  themselves  in  the  house.  "He 
was  mighty  good  lookin'  befo'  de  doctor  bore  de 
hole  in  his  head,  an'  bin  gittin'  better  lookin' 
eber  sence."  Having  delivered  herself  of  this 
compliment,  she  retired  to  the  kitchen  to  prepare 
an  early  supper,  or  late  dinner. 

It  may  be  that  the  reader  would  like  to  have 
such  a  description  as  would  enable  him  to  form  an 
opinion  as  to  the  correctness  of  Aunt  Tabby's 
judgment,  when  she  pronounced  the  young  man 
"good  lookin'." 

Admitting  that  the  appearance  of  the  outward 
man  is  of  little  consequence  compared  with  the 
immortal  within,  yet  it  is  universal  custom  when 
we  are  learning  the  attributes  of  a  character,  to 
clothe  it  also,  in  the  mind's  eye,  with  form  ;  and,  to 
make  possible  a  clear  conception  of  the  individual, 
the  portrayal  must  be  correct  and  careful.  For  say 
what  we  will  on  the  subject,  there  is  a  harmony  be- 
tween form  and  character,  which,  although  difficult 
to  describe,  may  be  very  easily  seen  and  appreciated. 
Suppose,  for  example,  that  Mr.  Sinclair  should  be 
described  as  having  red  hair,  a  white  and  diapha- 
nous complexion,  and  a  soft,  inelastic  skin  ;  the 
observant  reader  perceives  that  though  such  a 
man  might  possibly  fall  in  love  with  a  blue-eyed 
girl  of  thirteen,  during  a  three-months'  voyage  up 


138  BROUGHT  TO  BAY. 

the  Mississippi,  his  love  would  not  be  at  all  likely 
to  survive  a  week's  captivity  with  the  Indians,  and 
the  boring  of  an  inch  hole  in  his  cranium. 

Be  good  enough  now  to  imagine  Mr.  Francis 
Sinclair  as  a  young  gentleman  with  very  dark 
chestnut  hair,  a  fair  complexion  tending  to  a  brown, 
and  a  skin  of  delicate  and  elastic  texture,  which, 
instead  of  resembling  wet  parchment,  gave  every 
indication  of  being  endowed  with  life.  Let  his 
eyes  be  blue,  so  very  blue  as  to  be  generally  mis- 
taken for  black ;  his  height  five  feet  eight,  or  pos- 
sibly ten  inches ;  his  flesh  firm,  with  a  round  de- 
velopment of  the  muscles ;  his  carriage  upright, 
and  his  step  firm  and  decided.  These  were  the 
more  obvious  features  and  characteristics  of  the 
man.  But  such  an  observer  as  the  Swiss  philoso- 
pher Lavater  might  have  noticed  the  indications 
of  great  firmness  in  the  drawing  down  of  the  angles 
of  the  mouth,  and  of  great  kindness  in  the  eleva- 
tion of  the  same  angles ;  of  defiant  sternness  in 
the  depression  of  the  inner  angles  of  the  eye- 
brows, and  of  quick  humor  in  the  elevation  of 
the  outer  ones.  But  the  deductions  to  be  drawn 
from  so  careful  an  analysis,  though  they  may  reach 
the  truth,  are  yet  too  critical  for  the  ordinary 
observer.  It  is  well  enough  to  know,  however, 
that  Mrs.  Katy  Freeman  approved  the  judgment 


ALL    THE  PIGEONS  IN  THE    WORLD. 


139 


of  Aunt  Tabby.  And  she  thought,  whatever 
might  be  the  lot  of  her  lost  'Ginia,  she  must  have 
passed  some  pleasant  hours  with  her  compagnon  de 
voyage  up  the  Mississippi  River. 

The  morning  after  his  return  to  Shawneetown, 
Sinclair  found  letters  at  the  post-office  from  his 
uncle  at  St.  Louis,  containing  remittances  of 
money,  which  he  much  needed  ;  and  also  replies 
to  inquiries  he  had  made,  in  a  letter  written  to  his 
uncle  soon  after  recovering  from  the  effects  of  his 
wound,  as  to  the  presence  of  Sister  Naomi  and 
her  young  charge  at  St.  Louis.  The  uncle  wrote 
that  they  had  left  his  boat  at  St.  Genevieve  ;  and 
that  he  had  not  been  able  to  learn  anything  of 
them  since.  Sinclair  communicated  this  intelli- 
gence to  Mrs.  ^Freeman,  and  told  her  that  he  had 
resolved  to  visit  St.  Louis  at  the  first  opportunity ; 
and  if  her  daughter  was  not  to  be  found  there, 
then  he  would  go  to  St.  Genevieve,  and,  if  possible, 
trace  her  out  from  thence.  Tim  Rose  had  not  yet 
returned  from  New  Orleans,  where  he  had  gone  to 
search  for  'Ginia  ;  but  as  Sinclair  felt  assured  she 
was  not  in  that  city,  he  would  not  await  her  uncle's 
return. 

During  the  day  Sinclair  had  an  opportunity  of 
witnessing  the  migration  of  the  wild  pigeons, 
which  were  passing  over  the  river  from  Kentucky 


140 


BROUGHT  TO  BAY. 


to  the  woods,  ten  miles  northeast  of  the  town. 
They  began  to  pass  over  the  town  about  three 
o'clock  in  the  afternoon,  and  were  still  passing  in 
innumerable  hosts  when  darkness  shut  them  from 
view.  The  sight  was  new  to  Sinclair,  and  so  full 
of  wonder  that  he  gave  himself  up  to  the  obser- 
vation for  several  hours. 

First  the  birds  came  in  sections  of  a  few  hun- 
dreds together  ;  then  in  large  numbers,  —  platoons, 
companies,  regiments,  brigades,  —  and  then  like 
an  army  in  solid  column.  And  so,  like  a  living 
stream,  they  poured  along  for  two  hours  or  more. 
Afterwards  smaller  divisions,  more  and  more 
broken  into  groups,  came  on  until  darkness  hid 
them  from  view.  One  thing  struck  Sinclair  with 
peculiar  surprise :  the  line  of  flight  had  in  it 
occasional  curves,  and  to  those  curves  the  whole 
vast  multitude  conformed.  When  the  advance 
sections  were  first  seen  crossing  the  river  above 
the  town,  they  performed  the  passage  in  a  double 
curve,  —  heading  downward  almost  to  the  surface 
of  the  river  and  rising  again  without  touching  it  ; 
and  afterward  the  whole  multitude  followed  the 
same  line  with  critical  exactitude.  For  the  first 
time  in  his  life  Sinclair  was  disposed  to  doubt  the 
evidence  of  his  eyes,  and  even  of  his  ears ;  for  the 
sound  made  by  the  flapping  of  innumerable  wings 


ALL    THE  PIGEONS  IN  THE    WORLD. 


141 


was  like  "a  rushing  mighty  wind."  The  main 
army  of  birds  was  about  half  a  mile  in  breadth,  — 
the  birds  flying  closely  together  as  their  wings 
would  permit,  —  and  the  living  stream  unbroken 
for  hours  ! 

Finding  that  a  number  of  persons  were  going 
to  visit  the  roost  next  day,  he  determined  to 
make  one  of  the  party,  and  see  the  wonder  for 
himself.  The  company  consisted  of  Mr.  Wilson, 
the  landlord,  Tom  Summers,  Lynch,  and  a  young 
lawyer  named  Calvard.  This  man  Calvard  was  a 
fair  type  of  a  class  of  men,  then  and  still  common 
in  the  West,  who  hav^e  exerted  a  great  influence 
on  its  destiny.  He  was  a  native  of  Ohio ;  and 
although  only  about  twenty-five  years  old  had  made 
as  much  advance  in  a  knowledge  of  the  world  as 
most  men  have  made  at  fifty.  He  was  a  bold, 
fearless  thinker  on  all  subjects,  a  native  orator, 
and  an  uncompromising  Democrat. 

The  distance  to  the  outskirts  of  the  roost  was 
about  ten  miles  ;  and  as  the  party  rode  leisurely 
along  in  their  wagon  they  improved  the  time  by 
the  interchange  of  thought  and  opinion  ;  and  as 
all  the  party  with  the  exception,  perhaps,  of  Mr. 
Wilson  and  Sinclair,  were  remarkable  for  an  incli- 
nation to  "  wreak  their  thought  upon  expression," 
Sinclair  had  ample  opportunity  to  inform  himself 


142 


BROUGHT  TO  BAY. 


on  the  subjects  of  backwoods  philosophy  and 
frontier  poHtics  before  they  reached  the  pigeon 
roost. 

Mr.  Wilson  possessed  a  happy  faculty  of  drawing 
out  the  thoughts  of  others,  while  he  kept  his  own 
in  reserve,  or  perhaps  indicated  them  by  the  char- 
acter of  his  interrogations. 

"Gentlemen,"  said  Mr.  Wilson,  addressing  the 
party  generally,  "where  under  heaven  do  you 
suppose  such  a  raft  of  pigeons  came  from  .-' " 

"  My  opinion,  squire,"  said  Lynch,  "  is  that  they 
are  just  hatched,  like  other  birds." 

"Yes  ;  but,  Lynch,  there's  fifty  thousand  wagon 
loads  of  them  at  this  one  roost.  Suppose  we  add 
all  the  roosts  together ;  there  will  be  more  pigeons 
than  all  the  other  birds  in  the  world." 

"  So  there  ought  to  be,"  said  Summers,  taking 
up  the  answer,  "  if  they  are  like  tame  pigeons. 
They  hatch  a  nest  full  ten  or  twelve  times  every 
year." 

"  Don't  you  know,"  interposed  Mr.  Calvard, 
"  that  there  is  never  more  than  one  roost  at  the 
same  time  .-*  Last  year  it  was  near  Dayton,  in 
Ohio  ;  year  before,  in  Kentucky  ;  now  it  is  here. 
Everything,"  he  continued  with  an  air  of  convic- 
tion,- "  indicates  that  it  is  so.  In  the  first  place, 
there  is  never  known  to  be  more  than  one  roost  in 


ALL    THE  PIGEONS  IN  THE   WORLD. 


143 


the  same  year.  In  the  second  place,  it  is  known 
that  the  pigeons  of  a  single  roost  will  gather  and 
consume  the  food  in  a  circuit  of  a  thousand  miles 
round.  A  gentleman  in  Kentucky  told  me  they 
consumed  every  acorn  in  the  Oak  Flats,  —  which 
cover  twenty  miles  square,  —  in  two  days.  In  the 
third  place,  the  numbers  are  so  vast,  that  more 
than  two  or  three  such  roosts  as  this  would  con- 
sume all  the  food  on  the  continent  in  a  short  time, 
and  then  perish  of  starvation.  I  think  there  is 
little  doubt  that  all  the  pigeons  in  the  world,  ex- 
cept stragglers,  gather  in  one  roost,  and  that  their 
rapid  flight  enables  them  to  feed  over  so  vast  an 
extent  of  country,  that  they,  are  thus  able  to  find 
their  sustenance." 

"  Do  you  find  that  in  your  books,  Calvard  ? "  in- 
quired Summers. 

"  Books  }  No  !  "  replied  he,  with  a  sneer.  "  The 
book  of  the  backwoods  is  not  yet  written,  on  any 
subject.  Where  is  the  book  of  backwoods  politics, 
or  philosophy,  or  religion  ?  I  tell  you  that  this 
Valley  of  the  Mississippi  will  yet  teach  the  world 
a  new  lesson  on  all  these  subjects." 

"I'm  afraid,"  said  Tom,  "there  won't  be  any 
backwoods  after  a  while,  as  things  is  agoing." 

"  No  matter  for  the  woods,"  replied  Calvard. 
"  The  same  bold,  self-reliant,  and  independent  peo- 


144 


DROUGHT  TO  BAY. 


pie  will  still  be  here ;  the  same  cheap  food,  cheap 
raiment,  and  well-paid  labor  ;  the  same  stimulating 
and  invigorating  climate,  and  the  same  bright  and 
cheerful  skies :  these  all  produce  their  effects  on 
the  character  of  the  people.  Then,  thank  God ! 
we  have  no  veneration  for  old  usages  and  old  cus- 
toms as  such ;  we  have  no  respect  for  precedents, 
only  as  they  may  happen  to  be  right,  and  of  that 
we  judge  for  ourselves. 

"Then  we  have  no  aristocratic  university,"  he 
continued,  /'to  sanction  a  false  philosophy,  or 
established  church  to  sustain  a  false  religion.  We 
have  what  the  world  never  saw  before,  Mr.  Wil- 
son,—  a  people  with  strong,  cultivated  minds,  un- 
trammelled by  hoary  errors,  and  hence,  free  to 
investigate  truth  in  politics,  morals,  and  religion, 
as  has  never  yet  been  done." 

Tom  Summers  listened  to  these  expressions  with 
profound  attention. 

"  Calvard,"  said  he,  "  how  did  you  ever  happen 
to  be  a  lawyer  }  you  don't  learn  this  from  the  law 
books,  —  old  Blackstone  and  the  like  .-* " 

"If  Blackstone  had  been  an  Illinois  farmer," 
replied  Calvard,  "  he  would  have  written  about  as  I 
talk.  He  brought  all  the  order  possible  out  of  the 
confusion  he  found  in  England :  here  there  is  no 
confusion,  no  old  errors  nor  established  wrongs ; 


ALL    THE   PIGEONS  IN  THE    WORLD. 


145 


and  he  would  have  been  free  to  develop  the  Law 
of  Right.  There  he  commented  on  the  law  of 
England  ;  here  he  would  only  point  out  the  natural 
law  which  grows  out  of  the  relations  of  man  to  man 
when  they  stand  as  equals." 

"  What  do  you  think  of  these  smoke-boats  .-' "  said 
Tom.  "  They  will  drive  all  the  boatmen  out  of  the 
country.     That  ain't  justice  ;  it  can't  be  right." 

"Yes,  it  will  be,"  replied  Calvard,  "and  when 
they  have  employed  you  at  good  wages  for  twenty 
years,  you  will  be  ready  to  acknowledge  it  is  all 
right.  The  steamboats  must  have  pilots ;  and 
none  are  so  good  as  the  old  keel-boatmen.  No, 
no,  Tom  ;  the  steamboats  will  enable  us  to  build 
an  empire  in  fifty  years,  such  as  the  world  never 
saw ;  and  it  will  be  an  empire  in  which  you  and  I 
and  all  of  us  will  be  emperors." 

"  Whoop  !  "  exclaimed  Tom,  with  a  yell  of  delight 
at  the  anticipation  of  realizing  hopes  which,  al- 
though they  had  floated  vaguely  in  his  own  mind 
for  years,  now  first  found  form  in  these  words  from 
the  lips  of  Calvard,  "  whoop,  hurra  !  we've  got  the 
largest  rivers,  the  deepest  lakes,  the  biggest  moun- 
tains, and  the  greatest  country  in  the  world." 

"  Hurrah  for  old  Kaintuck  !  "  exclaimed  Lynch, 
catching  the  spirit  of  Tom's  patriotism.  "  Kain- 
tuck is  jist  in  the  centre  of  the  airth." 


146  BROUGHT  TO  BAY. 

"  How  much  farther  do  we  go,"  inquired  Sinclair, 
"  before  we  reach  the  pigeon  roost  ? " 

"  Look  thar  !  "  responded  Lynch.  "  That's  the 
way  they  do  it." 

He  pointed  to  a  large  chinquapin  oak  by  the 
roadside,  stripped  of  its  leaves,  and  its  branches 
torn  and  broken  from  the  weight  of  the  birds  upon 
them  the  night  before. 

"  Can  it  be  possible,"  inquired  Sinclair,  "  that 
this  is  really  the  work  of  birds  ? " 

"  Even  so,"  said  Mr.  Wilson. 

The  party  now  reached  the  borders  of  the  forest 
in  which  the  pigeons  had  established  their  roost ; 
and  they  soon  began  to  meet  persons  loaded  down 
with  the  game.  A  mile  or  two  farther  on  they 
halted  for  the  night  in  the  midst  of  a  heavy  forest. 
They  pitched  their  tent  near  a  spring  of  pure 
water,  and  in  the  vicinity  of  other  tents  put  up  by 
parties  who  had  preceded  them,  some  of  whom  had 
been  there  several  days,  and  were  now  engaged  in 
"jerking"  the  birds  obtained  the  night  before. 
Vast  piles  of  dead  pigeons  were  lying  around,  and 
men,  women,  and  children  were  preparing  them  for 
carrying  away.  This  was  done  by  taking  the 
breasts  alone,  stringing  them  on  sticks,  and  drying 
them  rapidly  before  fires  which  were  kept  con- 
stantly burning.     Some  of  the  men  had  become  so 


ALL    THE  PIGEONS  IN  THE    WORLD. 


H7 


expert  that  they  would  separate  the  breast  from 
the  bird  by  a  peculiar  twist  of  the  hands,  and  so 
rapidly  that  one  man  could  "  strip  "  the  breasts 
from  the  birds  as  fast  as  three  or  four  could  string 
them  and  get  them  before  the  fire.  The  rejected 
portions  were  thrown  to  the  hogs,  which  had  been 
driven  in  for  the  purpose  of  consuming  them.  The 
roost  extended  over  several  miles,  and  on  all  sides 
were  collected  persons  who  came  to  assist  in  the 
havoc,  and  to  jerk  and  carry  off  the  game. 

About  the  middle  of  the  afternoon,  the  birds 
began  to  arrive,  —  first  in  small  parties,  and  dis- 
posed to  avoid  the  vicinity  of  the  tents,  —  then  in 
large  bodies,  consisting  of  hundreds  of  thousands, 
and  paying  little  attention  to  the  presence  of  man  ; 
and  at  last  they  came  in  such  immense  numbers 
that  the  sky  was  obscured.  Their  wings  made  a 
noise  like  that  of  a  hurricane,  and  they  alighted 
upon  the  trees  in  such  masses  as  to  break  off  huge 
limbs,  which  came  crashing  down,  killing  large 
numbers  of  birds  in  their  fall.  As  night  came  on 
the  birds  which  came  latest,  finding  all  places  oc- 
cupied, and  "  no  rest  for  the  soles  of  their  feet," 
attempted  to  perch  upon  trees  already  full,  till  the 
overloaded  branches  would  fall  bringing  all  down 
together.  The  people  aided  in  the  havoc,  attack- 
ing the   falling  masses  of   birds  with  sticks  and 


148  BROUGHT  TO  BAY. 

clubs,  so  that  long  before  midnight  there  were 
more  dead  birds  than  could  be  disposed  of  all  next 
day. 

But  though  man,  their  enemy,  had  from  sheer 
satiety  ceased  from  slaughter,  the  cracking  and 
falling  of  branches  and  the  dropping  of  the 
wounded  birds  continued  until  morning.  Then 
came  the  excitement  of  the  departure.  Before  it 
was  fully  daylight  the  advance  squadrons  were  in 
motion,  their  wings  making  a  noise  like  a  tornado, 
and  filling  the  air  with  leaves  and  small  branches 
torn  from  the  trees.  Before  sunrise  all  that  could 
fly  were  off  south  for  Kentucky,  and  those  which 
could  not  fly  fell  victims  to  man  and  to  that  inevi- 
table accompaniment  of  civilization,  the  hog. 

The  whole  scene  was  so  exciting  that  Sinclair 
looked  on  in  silence  for  hours.  At  length,  when 
the  living  tide  had  ebbed  back  to  the  mountains  of 
Kentucky,  he  turned  to  Calvard,  — 

"  I  give  up,  I  am  beaten,  —  I  am  convinced,"  he 
said.  "  Yesterday  I  laughed  at  your  theory  that 
all  the  pigeons  in  the  world  are  congregated  at  the 
same  roost.  To-day  I  adopt  it  as  the  only  one 
which  is  at  all  plausible." 

"  I  believe  it,"  replied  Calvard  ;  "  it  agrees  with 
all  the  facts.  In  fact,  Mr.  Sinclair,  this  is  the 
country  in  which  to  study  to  advantage  the  char- 


ALL    THE  PIGEONS  IN  THE    WORLD. 


149 


acter  of  a  creature  much  higher  in  the  scale  of 
being  than  a  wild  pigeon.  What  do  the  philoso- 
phers of  Europe  know  of  man's  character  and 
capabilities  ?  They  study  him  crowded,  hampered 
in  cities,  hungry,  half  naked  and  half  sick  ;  they 
observe  him  under  the  restraint  of  partial  laws, 
hereditary  privileges,  and  restricted  energies ;  and 
they  must  almost  necessarily  mistake  his  true 
character.  Here  all  there  is  in  him  will  come  out 
and  manifest  itself,  and  he  may  be  studied  under 
the  most  favorable  circumstances.  And  here, 
therefore,  all  honest  men  have  admitted  his  ca- 
pacity to  govern  himself." 

While  the  party  were  loading  their  wagon  with 
game,  Mr.  Wilson  continued  the  conversation  by 
inquiring  of  Calvard  whether  he  thought  the 
experiment  of  man's  self-government  had  yet  been 
fairly  tested. 

"  No,  sir,"  replied  Calvard ;  "  it  never  will  be 
fairly  tested  until  universal  suffrage  is  established. 
Let  every  man  vote  for  every  officer,  and  by  him- 
self or  his  representative  have  a  voice  in  every 
law  :  then  it  will  be  fairly  tried." 

"  That's  it,  'Squire,"  said  Tom  Summers.  "  I'm 
for  that,  and  all  of  it." 

"Would  you  elect  judges  by  the  people.^"  in- 
quired Mr.  Wilson. 


ISO 


BROUGHT  TO  BAY. 


"  Yes,  everything,"  replied  Calvard.  "  The  peo- 
ple, as  a  rule,  will  always  choose  the  best  men." 

Mr.  Wilson  shook  his  head.  He  felt  that  the 
experiment  would  be  a  dangerous  one,  and  he  was 
too  cautious  a  man  to  be  willing  to  risk  much  in 
experiment.  But  Calvard,  now  fairly  started  on 
his  favorite  topics,  defended  his  views  on  universal 
suffrage,  then  considered  the  various  incidental 
questions  growing  out  of  it,  and  so  occupied  the 
time  until  the  party  reached  the  village. 

Sinclair  found  that  the  Roses,  in  his  absence, 
had  received  an  unsatisfactory  but  interesting 
letter,  concerning  the  lost  and  lamented  Virginia. 


CHAPTER  XI. 

DOUBTFUL    TIDINGS. HYPOCHONDRIA. SINCLAIR 

AT    ST.    GENEVIEVE. 

'T^HE  letter  received  by  Mrs.  Freeman  during 
Sinclair's  visit  to  the  pigeon  roost  was  from 
her  brother,  Tim  Rose.  It  had  been  written  on 
board  the  boat  as  he  descended  the  Mississippi,  and 
sent  up  by  the  captain  of  an  ascending  boat.  It 
contained  the  substance  of  a  conversation  which  he 
had  overheard  between  two  boatmen  as  he  was 
lying  in  his  berth,  asleep  as  they  supposed.  One 
of  them,  a  grim-looking  fellow  with  unshaven 
whiskers  and  moustache,  turning  to  his  compan- 
ion, said,  — 

"Jose,  what  did  the  captain  do  with  that  blue- 
eyed  girl  o'  his  .■'  " 

"  How  should  I  know,"  replied  the  other. 
"  Captain  Leyba  generally  knows  how  to  keep  his 
own  counsel." 

"  Why,  you  helped  to  bring  her  to  the  cave,  and 
might  have  picked  up  something." 

"Not  a  bit,"  said  the  man  who  had  been  ad- 


152 


BROUGHT  TO  BAY. 


dressed  as  Jose.  "  I  knew  the  captain  had  a 
daughter  at  Shawneetown,  long  before.  He  had 
arranged  to  steal  her  off  more  than  a  year  ago,  but 
he  gave  that  up.  My  opinion  is,  that  he  took  her 
to  a  nunnery  at  New  Orleans." 

"  How  did  the  girl  happen  to  be  in  Shawnee- 
town .'' "  inquired  the  first  speaker. 

"  Well,  I'll  tell  you  what  I  heard  a  year  ago. 
The  Captain  told  Guzman  that  he  had  a  daughter 
in  Shawneetown,  which  a  woman  was  bringing  up 
hi  mistake  for  her  own ;  and  that  the  woman 
treated  the  girl  so  kindly  and  loved  her  so  dearly 
that  he  hadn't  the  heart  to  take  her  away." 

Something  more  was  said  about  the  ^girl  be- 
coming much  attached  to  her  father  before  the 
boat  reached  New  Orleans,  and  the  conversation 
was  thus  dropped. 

It  was  Tim's  opinion  that  the  girl  spoken  of  was 
'  Ginia  Rose.  He  was  at  first  much  perplexed  at 
the  whole  conversation  between  the  men  ;  but  he 
finally  came  to  the  conclusion  that  either  they 
knew  he  was  not  really  asleep,  or  that  some  one  of 
the  Cave-in-Rock  party  had  stolen  the  girl,  and 
concocted  the  story  of  her  being  his  daughter  to 
justify  the  act  to  his  companions. 

"  And  what  do  you  think  of  the  matter,  madam .-' " 
inquired  Sinclair  of  Mrs.  Freeman,  when  she  had 
read  the  letter  to  him. 


DOUBTFUL    TIDINGS. 


153 


"  Indeed,"  she  replied,  "  I  know  not  what  to 
think." 

"  It  cannot  possibly  be  that  you  could  have 
gotten  possession  of  another  child  as  your  own  ?  " 

"  Oh,  no,  no  !  "  exclaimed  the  mother.  "  She 
was  once  out  of  my  sight  three  months,  just  before 
she  was  a  year  old  ;  but  her  father  had  her  then, 
and  he  could  not  possibly  be  mistaken  in  her ;  and 
we  recovered  her  directly  from  his  possession." 
After  a  moment  she  continued,  "  Oh,  it  isn't 
possible  that  I  can  be  mistaken  in  my  child ! " 

"  Did  not  this  old  negro  woman  formerly  belong 
to  Mr.  Freeman.-*"  inquired  Sinclair. 

"  She  did,"  replied  Katy ;  "  and  the  faithful 
creature  always  nursed  '  Ginia  while  in  Freeman's 
possession,  and  was  much  attached  to  the  child." 

"  Well,  there  is  mystery  somewhere,"  said  Sin- 
clair. "  Have  you  ever  suspected  Tabby  of  being 
privy  to  'Ginia's  disappearance.''" 

"No,  I  have  not,"  replied  Mrs.  Freeman. 
"  Brother  Tim  once  thought  so  for  a  short  time  ; 
but  he  gave  the  idea  up.  She  loved  'Ginia  too  well 
herself  to  be  guilty  of  such  cruelty." 

"At  any  rate,"  said  Sinclair,  "it  is  nearly  cer- 
tain— and  Tim's  account  makes  it  more  so  — 
that  Virginia  is  not  in  New  Orleans  ;  but  with  the 
nun  Sister  Naomi,  at  St.  Genevieve.     I  shall  visit 


154  BROUGHT  TO  BAY. 

St.  Louis  immediately,  for  the  purpose  of  con- 
ferring with  my  uncle ;  and  will  then  search  out 
my  Virginia  at  whatever  trouble.  And  if  she 
shall  prove  —  as  I  trust  and  believe  —  to  be  also 
yojir  'Ginia,  so  much  the  better." 

At  this  time  a  line  of  "  stations "  had  been 
established,  block-houses  erected,  and  companies 
of  Rangers  or  mounted  riflemen  were  constantly 
scouring  the  country  from  Edwardsville,  near  the 
Mississippi  above  St.  Louis,  to  the  United  States 
Saline  Works,  back  of  Shawneetown,  and  already 
known  to  the  reader,  for  the  purpose  of  preventing 
the  incursions  of  Indians.  Sinclair  had  decided 
to  prepare  himself  with  a  good  horse,  and  equipped 
with  a  rifle,  to  pass  along  the  line  of  stations  to 
Edwardsville  and  thence  to  St.  Louis.  Accord- 
ingly, on  the  next  morning,  he  proceeded  to  the  Salt 
Works  as  his  point  of  departure.  Here  he  found 
Lesure,  the  Frenchman,  ready  to  make  the  same 
journey  on  business  connected  with  the  Salt 
Works.  Lesure  did  not  recognize  him  at  first, 
having  only  seen  him  in  his  wounded  condition. 
When  he  learned  that  he  was  really  the  hero  of 
Dr.  Reed's  new  operation  in  surgery,  and  that  he 
was  also  bound  to  St.  Louis,  he  was  delighted. 

"Ah,  ha,  sare ! "  said  Lesure.  "Glad  to  see 
you,  Mistaire   Seenclair.     Ha,  ha ;  first    de    torn- 


DOUBTFUL    TIDINGS. 


155 


'hawk  knock  in  de  cranium ;  dat  not  keel  you. 
Den  Doctare  Reed  bore  beeg  hole  in  heem  with 
centare  beet ;  dat  not  keel  you.  Ha,  ha !  You  can 
go  to  San  Louis  safe." 

"  Yes,"  responded  Sinclair ;  "  I  am  tolerably 
hard  to  kill.  I  am  to  have  the  pleasure  of  your 
company  on  the  way,  am  I  .-*" 

"  Tank  you,  sare,"  replied  the  polite  French- 
man ;  "dat  weel  give  me  ver  moche  plaisure." 

The  distance  from  the  Salt  Works  to  the  first 
station  was  about  fifteen  miles  ;  and  as  the  small 
squad  of  Rangers,  whose  duty  it  was  to  pass  and 
repass  from  the  works  to  the  station  daily,  were 
just  ready  to  start,  Sinclair  and  Lesure  accom- 
panied them. 

The  reader  who  happens  to  be  familiar  with 
Western  history,  is  aware  that  those  stations 
which  were  then  common,  were  generally  log-built 
"block-houses,"  built  in  such  a  manner  as  to  resist 
the  attack  of  Indians  ;  with  the  upper  portion  pro- 
jecting beyond  the  lower  on  all  sides,  to  enable 
the  defenders  to  fire  down  upon  any  who  might 
approach.  Those  along  the  line  which  Sinclair 
was  about  to  travel  had  been  built  under  the  direc- 
tion of  Governor  Edwards  to  protect  the  settle- 
ments in  the  southwest  angle  of  the  territory 
between  the  Ohio  and  the  Mississippi  rivers ;  %nd 


156  BROUGHT  TO  BAY. 

mounted  men  in  small  numbers,  and  often  a  single 
scout,  were  kept  passing  and  repassing  between 
them  daily. 

When  the  party  with  Sinclair  reached  the  first 
station  it  was  nearly  night.  The  station  consisted 
of  a  single  block-house  made  of  logs,  it  was 
twenty  feet  square  and  two  stories  high,  the  upper 
story  projecting  about  three  feet  over  the  lower 
one.  It  had  been  erected  over  a  spring  of  fresh 
water ;  and  a  small  stock  of  provisions,  ammuni- 
tion, and  other  necessary  supplies,  were  stored 
away  within.  This  description  will  answer  for 
most  of  the  stations  on  the  lines;  though  some  of 
them  were  real  settlements,  including  a  group  of 
block-houses  surrounded  with  pickets. 

When  the  men  with  Sinclair  arrived,  they  were 
admitted  by  another  squad  of  Rangers  from  within, 
and  the  entrance  was  closed  for  the  night. 

Sinclair,  not  being  accustomed  to  the  saddle, 
found  himself  weary ;  and  learning  that  the  Ran- 
gers would  start  on  their  beat  to  the  next  station 
at  daybreak,  laid  down  to  obtain  the  benefit  of  a 
night's  rest.  But  the  voluble  Frenchman  had 
been  inured  to  midnight  vigils  at  the  Salt  Works, 
and  was  not  disposed  to  sleep  so  long  as  he  could 
find  a  listener.  In  this  he  was  fortunate ;  for  a 
nurtber  of  the  Rangers,  finding  there  was  amuse- 


DOUBTFUL    TIDINGS. 


157 


ment  in  the  man,  gathered  around  and  encouraged 
him  to  gratify  his  propensity.  Lesure  repeated 
the  story  of  the  Yankee  who  outwitted  the 
Frenchman  by  tapping  his  saltwater  pipe ;  the 
account  of  black  Sol's  escape  with  the  Indian's 
horse  and  bells ;  and  at  length  he  very  naturally 
came  to  the  story  of  the  rescue  of  Sinclair,  and 
the  wonderful  surgical  operation  of  Dr.  Reed. 
Supposing  Sinclair  to  be  asleep,  and  willing  to 
sacrifice  strict  veracity  to  effect,  he  gave  the  story 
a  coloring  which  the  facts  would  hardly  justify. 

"  You  will  see,  sare,"  said  he  to  the  sergeant 
commanding  the  squad,  —  "you  will  see  dat  what 
will  keel  one  man  will  cure  de  nex'  man,  eh } 
Doctare  Reed  bore  one  auger  hole  in  de  cranium 
of  dis  gentleman,  and  it  cure  heem  !  Suppose  he 
bore  only  ver  leetle  hole  in  viy  cranium  ;  dere  be 
one  dead  Frenchman,  eh  .'' " 

"  But,  Lesure,"  said  the  sergeant,  "  did  the  doc- 
tor really  bore  an  auger  hole  in  his  head .?" 

"  Yes,  sare ;  Doctor  Reed  bore  one  hole  in  de 
head  of  the  gentleman,  like  dis  monies,  (holding 
up  a  Spanish  dollar),  and  you  see  de  gentleman  is 
not  murdared." 

"  No,"  responded  the  sergeant,  with  a  look 
towards  Sinclair ;  "  he's  not  murdered,  that's  cer- 
tain.    But  if  he  were  not  here  to  speak  for  him- 


158  BROUGHT  TO  BAY. 

self  I  should  suspect  you  were  lying.  The  story 
is  equal  to  that  of  Jack  Hays,  who  took  a  notion 
that  there  was  a  worm  in  his  head ;  and  nothing 
would  do  but  that  the  doctor  must  bore  a  hole  in 
his  head  and  take  it  out.  So  the  doctor  cut  down 
on  his  skull  and  scratched  the  bone  a  little,  and 
then  produced  a  grub-worm  which  he  pretended 
came  out  of  the  head." 

"  Is  that  a  fact .-'"  inquired  one  of  the  men. 
"  Yes  ;  I  know  all  about  it." 
"  Well,  did  it  cure  him  of  his  fooling  .■•" 
"  Yes  ;  the  man  went  right  to  work,  and  didn't 
take  the  notion  again  for  two  years.     Then  he  and 
his  old  woman  had  a  squabble  ;  and  she  told  him 
he  had  been  silly  enough  to  let  Dr.  Dake  fool  him 
with  a  grub-worm.     '  Is  that  a  fact,  Sally  .-•'  said  he  ; 
*  Yes,  it  is,'  she  replied  ;  '  I  got  the  grub-worm  for 
the  doctor  myself ! '  And  don't  you  think,  the  fel- 
ler went  to  bed  crazy  as  ever,  believing  he  had  a 
worm  in  his  head." 

This  grub-worm  story  pleased  Lesure  very 
much ;  and  he  already  enjoyed  in  anticipation  the 
pleasure  of  repeating  it  to  the  people  at  the  Salt 
Works  when  he  returned.  He  continued  to  talk 
until  the  sentry  was  placed  for  the  night,  and  then 
reluctantly  laid  down  with  the  others  to  rest. 
Next    morning    Sinclair    and    the    Frenchman 


DOUBTFUL    TIDINGS. 


159 


started  in  company  with  a  few  Rangers  for  the 
next  station.  And  in  this  manner,  escorted  from 
station  to  station  by  the  mounted  men,  they 
reached  Edwardsville  on  the  third  day,  without 
anything  of  importance  occurring  on  the  way. 
From  thence  they  reached  St.  Louis  at  the  close 
of  the  next  day. 

Sinclair  immediately  called  upon  his  uncle,  who 
received  him  kindly,  and  listened  to  the  details  of 
his  captivity  among  the  Indians  and  the  succeed- 
ing events  with  much  interest.  When  he  came  to 
relate  his  trip  up  the  river,  and  alluded' to  his  warm 
interest  in  the  girl  Virginia,  his  uncle  laughed  at  him 
as  a  madcap,  who  had  sported  away  the  hours  of  a 
long  voyage  so  pleasantly  with  his  only  compan- 
ion as  to  permit  a  pretty  child  of  thirteen  to  steal 
away  his  heart.  Sinclair  permitted  his  uncle  to 
enjoy  his  laugh,  but  vowed  that  he  would  search 
out  and  find  that  same  "  pretty  girl  of  thirteen," 
even  though  it  should  require  years. 

Receiving  a  supply  of  money,  chiefly  the  pro- 
ceeds of  the  sale  of  property  brought  up  the  river 
by  his  mother  and  himself  in  his  uncle's  boat,  and 
satisfying  himself  that  Sister  Naomi  and  Virginia 
were  not  in  St.  Louis,  he  left  in  a  pirogue  with 
some  Frenchmen  for  St.  Genevieve.  Finding  that 
one  of  his  French  boatmen  resided  at  St.  Gene- 


l6o  BROUGHT  TO  BAY. 

vieve,  Sinclair  endeavored  to  learn  something  of 
Sister  Naomi  and  her  charge. 

"You  live  at  St.  Genevieve,  do  you.^*"  he  in- 
quired. 

"  Yes,  sare,"  replied  the  man, 

"  Is  there  a  nunnery  there  .-"  " 

"Maybe  not  nunnery,"  replied  the  man,  "but 
good  many  nun." 

"  Have  they  a  school  for  girls  .-' " 

"  De  Sistare  teach  de  girl,  sometime,  sare ;  not 
moche  school," 

"  Do  you  know  anything  of  the  Sisters  } " 

"Yes,  sare;  great  manys." 

"  Did  any  come  there  recently,  —  two  or  three 
months  since  ? " 

"  Yes,  sare :  Sister  Naomi  from  New  Orlean. 
You  know  Sister  Naomi .-'  " 

"Yes,  very  well,"  replied  Sinclair.  "  Is  she  still 
there ,-'     Was  there  a  young  woman  with  her  ? " 

"  Young  woman  }  Yes  ;  one  leetle  woman,  so 
beeg,"  replied  the  Frenchman,  showing  with  his 
hands  how  tall  he  supposed  the  child  to  be, 

"  And  do  you  think  you  could  find  her,  or  show 
me  where  to  find  her .-'  " 

"Oh,  yes;  ver'  quick.     Wait,  I  show  you." 

Sinclair  was  now  quite  hopeful  of  finding  the 
lost  Virginia  ;   but  the  thought  occurred  to  him 


DOUBTFUL    TIDINGS.  i6i 

that  any  interest  he  might  exhibit  in  her  on  his 
own  account  might  seem  very  strange,  and  he 
could  not  prove  himself  authorized  by  her  mother 
to  reclaim  her  even  if  he  found  her ;  then  he  was 
sure,  from  her  conduct  in  the  boat,  that  Sister 
Naomi  was  disposed  to  keep  her  charge  very 
closely.  At  length,  after  long  reflection,  he  de- 
cided, if  he  learned  where  Virginia  was  to  be 
found,  to  see  her,  if  that  were  possible,  merely 
as  an  acquaintance,  without  making  known  the 
fact  that  he  was  acquainted  with  her  parentage, 
and  sought  her  with  consent  of  her  mother.  After- 
wards he  could  act  as  circumstances  might  dictate. 
After  reaching  St.  Genevieve,  therefore,  he  took 
lodgings,  and  sent  the  French  boatman  to  learn 
Sister  Naomi's  whereabouts,  without  letting  her 
know  of  his  presence  in  the  town. 

Sinclair  waited  all  the  next  day ;  but,  as  the 
Frenchman  did  not  come  back  according  to  prom- 
ise, he  began  to  suspect  treachery,  and  proceeded 
to  look  for  him  in  the  village  and  at  the  boat- 
landing.  He  found  the  man  in  his  boat,  on  the 
point  of  returning  to  St.  Louis.  On  inquiring  of 
him  why  he  did  not  come  back  and  report,  he  at 
first  said  he  had  forgotten  ;  but,  on  being  closely 
qu'^stioned,  acknowledged  that  he  had  made  inqui- 
ries  among   the   Sisters,  though   he  persisted  in 


1 62  BROUGHT  TO  BAY. 

saying  that  he  could  hear  nothing  of  Sister  Naomi 
or  her  charge,  as  they  had  gone  away,  no  one  knew 
whither.  The  man's  account  was  so  confused  and 
inconsistent  that  Sinclair  did  not  doubt  that  he 
had  been  bribed  to  silence,  and  that  the  story  of 
Sister  Naomi's  departure  was  false. 

After  remaining  in  the  town  several  days  in  the 
vain  hope  that  accident  might  enable  him  to  learn 
something  of  the  Sister,  he  went  to  the  Religious 
House,  which  he  thought  must  be  her  home  and 
Virginia's  hiding-place. 

He  was  received  by  a  woman  who  appeared  to 
be  the  Superior  of  the  sisterhood.  She  called  him 
by  name  at  once,  and,  politely  offering  him  a  seat, 
inquired  when  he  left  Shawneetown. 

"  I  left  that  village  a  week  since,"  he  replied ; 
"but  I  am  certainly  surprised  to  find  that  I  am 
known  to  any  one  here." 

"  You  have  more  friends  than  you  knew  of, 
then,"  said  the  woman. 

"  I  was  certainly  not  aware  of  having  a  friend, 
or  even  an  acquaintance,  in  yourself,"  responded 
Sinclair,  somewhat  mystified,  and  not  knowing 
just  what  was  best  to  be  said. 

"Perhaps  not,"  replied  the  Sister;  "sometimes 
our  best  friends  are  least  known  to  us."  Then, 
with  a  meaning  smile,  she  continued :  "I  am  not 


DOUBTFUL    TIDINGS.  163 

surprised  that,  having  forsaken  the  church,  your 
first  love,  you  should  now  pursue  the  igiies  fatiii 
of  two  blue  eyes.  But  I  commend  your  good 
taste,  nevertheless." 

Sinclair,  satisfied  that  himself  and  his  history 
were  equally  well  known,  concluded  that  any  fur- 
ther attempt  at  concealment  would  be  useless. 
He  therefore  abruptly  inquired  :  — 

"  May  I  ask  you  if  the  daughter  of  Mrs.  Free- 
man—  for  you  appear  to  know  the  object  of  my 
visit  —  is  in  this  house ;  and  if  I  may  see  her,  if 
only  for  a  moment  in  your  presence  ?  " 

"  I  tell  you  truly,  sir,"  replied  the  woman,  "  she 
is  not  here,  nor  even  in  the  village." 

Then,  observing  the  look  of  incredulity  with 
which  he  regarded  her,  she  added  :  "  It  is  so,  by 
my  faith  in  the  Virgin  !  " 

"  I  am  bound  to  believe  you,"  replied  Sinclair, 
*'  but  no  doubt  you  can  inform  me  where  she  is. 
You  would  do  me  a  great  kindness  in  so  doing,  be- 
sides performing  a  righteous  deed  in  relieving  the 
suspense  of  a  bereaved  mother." 

"  To  tell  you  the  truth,"  replied  the  Sister,  "  I 
know  nothing  of  either  the  person  you  speak  of  or 
her  daughter." 

Sinclair,  finding  further  inquiry  hopeless,  at 
least    so    far    as  Virginia   was     concerned,   then 


1 64  BROUGHT  TO  BAY. 

asked  where  he  should  find  his  friend,  the  Sister 
Naomi  ? 

"  Indeed  I  cannot  tell,"  was  the  reply. 

Despairing  of  learning  anything  of  the  object  of 
his  search,  this  woman  being  evidently  unwilling 
to  communicate  even  what  she  knew,  Sinclair  took 
his  leave.  He  spent  a  few  days  longer  in  St. 
Genevieve  in  the  vain  endeavor  to  find  there  some 
clew  to  the  mystery,  and  then,  disappointed  him- 
self, and  reluctant  to  bear  so  discouraging  a  report 
to  the  bereaved  mother,  he  returned  to  St.  Louis, 
and  thence  to  Shawneetown. 

On  his  arrival  at  Shawneetown,  Sinclair  found 
Tim  Rose,  who  had  returned  from  New  Orleans 
without  obtaining  any  clew  to  the  lost  one,  save 
vague  suspicions  he  had  gathered  from  the  conver- 
sation between  the  boatmen. 

After  earnest  and  most  serious  reflection,  and 
prolonged  consultation  with  his  friends,  for  the 
present  Sinclair  determined  to  remain  at  Shawnee- 
town, and  to  pursue  the  study  of  the  law  under  the 
tutorship  of  Calvard,  who  is  already  known  to  the 
reader.  But  neither  his  studies  nor  any  other 
cause  was  to  be  for  an  hour  permitted  to  interfere 
with  the  search  for  Virginia ;  every  faintest  clew 
was  to  be  followed  ;  every  suggestion  acted  on  that 
held  out  the  least  promise  of  success. 


DOUBTFUL    TIDINGS.  165 

As  time  passed  without  any  tidings  of  the  lost 
one,  hope  almost  died  with  all  but  Sinclair.  Even 
the  loving  and  sorrowing  mother  had  fallen  back 
upon  the  belief  that  her  lost  darling  had  wandered 
from  home  and  been  drowned.  And  although  this 
appeared  to  her  kindred  the  most  improbable,  the 
mother's  heart,  searching  for  relief  from  the  agony 
of  suspense,  rested  at  last  upon  that  solution  of 
the  mystery. 

Some  two  years  after  Sinclair's  visit  to  St.  Gen- 
evieve, in  a  conversation  concerning  the  very  mys- 
terious disappearance  of  Virginia,  he  requested  the 
mother  to  let  him  have  the  bit  of  paper  found 
upon  the  boat  by  Tom  Summers,  which  had  never 
since  been  out  of  her  possession.  He  took  it  to 
his  office  and  subjected  it  to  a  most  careful  scru- 
tiny. 

He  first  satisfied  himself  that  it  was  really  a  leaf 
from  a  small  book  of  blank  paper,  probably  used 
for  memorandums,  as  it  was  written  upon  one  side 
only,  the  other  being  blank.  It  was  worn,  and 
gave  evidence  of  long  use.  He  next  became 
satisfied  that  it  had  not  been  torn  from  the  book 
by  design,  but  that  it  had  been  detached  by  the 
wear  and  tear  of  frequent  handling.  His  final  con- 
clusion was  that  it  had  fallen  from  its  attachment 
to  the  other  leaves  of  the  memorandum  book,  and 


1 66  BROUGHT   TO  BAY. 

dropped  upon  the  deck  of  the  boat  by  accident. 
All  these  facts  (if  facts  they  indeed  were)  indicated 
to  Sinclair  that  the  memorandum  was  esteemed  as 
of  value  by  its  owner,  and  that  it  referred  to  impor- 
tant facts.     What  were  these  facts  ? 

"Angela  with  the  black  woman." 

"  Known  only  as  Virginia." 

"  Limestone  to  Shawneetown." 

Sinclair  studied  each  of  those  mysterious  lines 
separately,  for  each  was  complete  in  itself  ;  and 
yet  the  three  lines  were  no  doubt  closely  related. 

Keeping  the  result  of  his  questionings  of  the 
memorandum  to  himself,  he  one  day  suddenly  con- 
fronted old  Tabby,  whom  he  found  alone,  with  this 
inquiry :  — 

"  Aunt  Tabby,  what  do  you  know  of  the  child 
Angela .-' " 

The  old  negro  was  embarrassed,  and  after  a  lit- 
tle while,  —  Sinclair  still  quietly  watching  her  and 
waiting  for  an  answer,  —  she  echoed  him :  — 

"  The  child  Angely  t " 

"Yes." 

"  Don't  know  nufRn  'bout  any  Angely,"  said 
Tabby.  But  she  was  evidently  agitated  by  the 
question  ;  and  Sinclair  decided  that  she  spoke 
falsely,  and  that  she  could  give  the  clew  to  the 
mysterious  memorandum.     But    she   persisted  in 


DOUBTFUL    TIDINGS.  167 

her  denial ;  and  Sinclair  thought  best  to  drop  the 
matter  for  the  time. 

Sinclair  now  felt  sure  the  man  who  called  him- 
self Leyba,  and  who  had  dropped  the  memorandum, 
had  abducted  Virginia  Rose ;  that  there  was  some 
mystary  about  her  known  to  Leyba,  and  unknown 
to  Mrs.  Freeman,  and  that  old  Tabby  was  in  some 
way  privy  to  the  carrying  away  of  the  child.  But 
here  the  clew  was  lost.  Not  another  ray  of  light 
was  thrown  upon  the  mystery  for  long  years  suc- 
ceeding. 

The  reader  will  now  permit  a  veil  of  silence  to 
cover  the  events  of  three  succeeding  years.  They 
were  years  of  bitterness  to  the  bereaved  mother, 
and  of  disappointment  to  the  generous-hearted 
and  constant  Sinclair.  All  efforts  to  find  and  re- 
cover the  lost  Virginia  had  failed. 

Dan  Rose  had  returned  to  his  home  at  the  close 
of  the  war,  Captain  Summers  had  seen  the  steam- 
boat rapidly  superseding  the  keel-boat  and  the 
barge  ;  and  Sinclair  had  divided  his  time  between 
the  vain  search  for  Virginia  and  successful  efforts 
to  master  the  subtleties  of  the  law. 


CHAPTER   XII. 

THREE   YEARS    LATER. THE    CLEW    RECOVERED. 

LEYBA    IN    THE    TOILS. 

TN  St.  Louis,  three  years  after  the  events  last 
narrated,  and  five  years  after  Sinclair's  visit  to 
St.  Genevieve,  occurred  the  trial  of  a  man  charged 
with  piracy.  The  case  had  created  much  excite- 
ment ;  and  curiosity  took  Tom  Summers,  who  was 
in  the  city,  as  it  did  others,  to  see  the  subject  of  it. 
What  was  his  astonishment  to  find  in  the  prisoner 
his  old  acquaintance  of  Cave-in-Rock  ! 

Tom  Summers  was  generous  as  he  was  brave. 
He  had  supposed  that  Captain  Miner  had  fallen  a 
victim  to  the  catastrophe  which  overwhelmed  the 
inmates  of  the  Cave ;  and  though  he  now  bore  the 
name  of  Leyba,  he  recognized  him  instantly.  He 
sought  an  interview,  and  assured  the  prisoner  that 
he  would  keep  his  secret  on  the  subject  of  Cave- 
in-Rock,  and  would  not  testify  against  him.  The 
stony  heart  of  the  man  was  softened  by  this  gen- 
erosity. Seizing  Summers  by  the  hand  he  ex- 
claimed, — 


THREE    YEARS  LATER.  169 

"  Captain  Summers,  the  gratitude  of  a  man  who 
stands  charged  with  crime  can  hardly  be  worth 
your  acceptance.  But  had  the  world  been  filled 
with  such  as  you,  I  would  not  be  the  wretch  I  am 
to-day.  As  it  is .  But  my  cjirse  is  as  power- 
less as  my  gratitude  !  " 

After  a  few  minutes  of  suppressed  emotion  he 
continued,  — 

"  Some  years  ago  I  reclaimed  a  daughter,  — 
pure  and  beautiful  as  the  falling  snow.  She  is 
the  sole  tie  which  binds  me  to  my  kind.  Oh, 
terrible  alternative !  I  must  now  disown  that 
daughter,  or  stain  her  pure  and  spotless  life  with 
my  own  disgrace." 

He  sat  down,  almost  overpowered  by  his  emo- 
tion. 

Summers  now  called  to  mind  the  history  of 
Virginia  Rose  ;  her  disappearance  about  the  time 
that  Leyba  left  his  boat  at  Shawneetown,  and  the 
mysterious  persons  whom  he  had  seen  come  from 
the  Tippecanoe  at  New  Orleans,  and  disappear  in 
the  carriage  :  could  they  have  been  this  man  and 
'Ginia  Rose  }  He  ventured  to  question  Leyba  on 
the  subject ;  but  he  courteously,  though  firmly, 
refused  to  make  any  further  communications. 

On  his  return  to  Shawneetown,  a  few  days  after 
his  interview  with  Miner,  —  or  Leyba,  if  they  were 


\yo  BROUGHT  TO  BAY. 

the  same,  —  Summers  communicated  to  her  kindred 
at  that  place  the  possible  clew  to  the  discovery  of 
the  lost  Virginia. 

On  hearing  Summers's  account  of  his  interview 
with  the  prisoner  at  St.  Louis,  now  bearing  the 
name  of  Leyba,  it  was  arranged  that  Tim  Rose 
and  Sinclair  should  visit  him,  and  endeavor  to 
force  from  him  an  explanation  of  the  mystery 
which  hung  about  the  girl  whom  he  had  claimed 
as  his  daughter.  Mrs.  Freeman  had  little  faith  in 
the  success  of  the  undertaking :  she  could  not 
believe  that  this  girl  would  prove  to  be  her  lost 
darling.  But  Sinclair,  relying  on  the  hints  which 
he  had  gathered  from  the  mysterious  bit  of  paper 
which  he  had  studied  so  long,  did  not  doubt  that, 
whatever  might  be  the  explanation  of  Leyba's 
claim  to  the  girl  as  his  daughter,  she  would  still 
prove  to  be  the  lost  Virginia. 

When  Tim  Rose  and  Sinclair  reached  St.  Louis, 
the  prisoner  utterly  declined  all  communication  on 
the  subject  of  their  search.  Finding  that  any 
direct  approach  to  the  subject  was  impossible, 
Sinclair  determined  to  try  the  effect  of  an  appeal 
to  the  father's  heart.  He  related  an  account  of 
his  voyage  up  the  Mississippi.  He  dwelt  upon 
the  purity  and  loveliness  of  his  fair  companion, 
her  confiding  attachment  to  himself,  her  generous 


THREE    YEARS  LATER. 


171 


and  happy  disposition,  and  all  those  traits,  at  once 
childlike  and  womanly,  which  had  made  such  a 
deep  and  lasting  impression  upon  him  ;  spoke  of 
the  long  years  that  he  had  worn  her  image  in  his 
heart,  and  of  all  his  vain  efforts  to  search  her  out. 

Leyba  listened  with  evident  emotion.  When 
Sinclair  had  completed  his  story,  he  took  advan- 
tage of  the  prisoner's  awakened  feelings  to  make  a 
last  appeal :  — 

"And  now,  sir,  I  appeal  to  your  heart,  —  if  you 
are  a  father  who  loves  his  daughter  so  dearly  that, 
rather  than  have  her  share  his  ignominy,  he  denies 
and  disowns  her.  Who  is  to  love  her  when  you 
are  gone  .''  Will  that  world  which  will  detest  you  for 
your  fate,  regardless  of  its  cause,  —  will  such  a 
world  be  likely  to  give  either  love  or  respect  to 
your  offspring  .''  You  deny  her  :  who  will  believe 
you  ">.  Can  you  hope  to  shield  her  by  such  means  .-• 
I  offer  you  the  evidence  of  five  years  of  devotion 
as  proof  of  my  attachment,  and  you  do  not,  you 
cannot,  doubt  my  sincerity.  I  come  to  you  on  the 
verge  of  a  death  of  infamy,  on  the  very  steps  of 
the  scaffold,  and  ask  to  share  that  infamy :  can 
you  still  refuse  me .-'  Nay,  more.  I  know  the 
hidden  springs  of  Virginia's  heart ;  I  know  that, 
whatever  you  may  say,  she  will  not  accept  your 
disavowal,  even  for  the   good   opinion  of  a  world 


172 


BROUGHT  TO  BAY. 


which  is  not  worthy  of  her.  I  appeal  to  you  by 
that  tie  which  you  say  is  all  that  binds  you  to 
your  kind  :  will  you  leave  her  to  the  scornful  pity 
of  a  heartless  world,  or  will  you  yield  her  to  a 
love  as  deep  and  disinterested  as  your  own  ? " 

"My  son,  you  unman  me,"  exclaimed  the 
prisoner. 

"  Rather  say  that  I  awaken  the  sleeping  man 
within   you,"  said   Sinclair. 

Leyba  bit  his  lips  till  they  dropped  blood  in  a 
vain  effort  to  restrain  his  emotion.  Suddenly  he 
turned,  and  said  to  Sinclair, — 

"  How  know  I,  —  Jiow  know  y on,  —  that  Angela, 
—  that  my  daughter  has  not  long  since  forgotten 
you  .•" " 

"  Let  me  see  her  but  for  a  moment,"  responded 
Sinclair,  "and  if  she  does  not  reciprocate  my 
affection,  even  to  the  uttermost,  I  will  renounce 
her  love  and  pledge  my  honor  not  to  reveal  her 
place  of  retreat." 

"  Suppose  I  tell  you  that  her  father's  hands  are 
stained  with  blood .-'"  said  the  prisoner. 

"  No  matter :  she  is  pure  as  the  falling  snow- 
flake." 

"  That  his  heart  is  filled  with  hatred  to  his 
kind } " 

"  No  matter :  hers  has  no  trace  of  aught  but 
love  and  kindness." 


THREE    YEARS  LATER. 


173 


"  That  poverty  and  infamy  will  be  her  only 
dowry." 

"  I  know,  I  know,"  responded  Sinclair.  "  You 
relent,  and  I  accept  the  terms." 

"  You  have  conquered  !  "  said  the  stern  man. 
"  O  God,  that  there  should  be  yet  a  man  upon  thy 
footstool  could  bring  a  tear  to  these  eyes  !  My  son, 
—  ay,  my  son ;  you  do  not  start  to  hear  the  title 
from  a  pirate's  lips,  —  the  adamant  of  my  heart  is 
broken  up,  —  the  scaffold  will  yet  wring  a  groan 
from  its  victim.  Yesterday  I  smiled  at  the  threats 
of  the  king  of  horrors :  he  had  no  horror  for  me. 
But  now  I  have  a  daughter  and  a  son." 

After  composing  himself,  he  took  a  pen  and 
wrote  the  following  words  :  — 

Sister  Naomi  will  permit  the  bearer  to  see  and  converse 
in  private  with  Virginia.  Antoine  de  Levba. 

He  then  gave  Sinclair  directions  to  find  Sister 
Naomi,  and  Sinclair  departed. 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

AN    INTERVIEW. LIGHT    BREAKING    IN. 

TT  7HEN  Sinclair  had  time  to  reflect  upon  his 
position,  he  began  to  suspect  that  he  had 
undertaken  a  task  much  more  delicate  and  difficult 
than  he  had  at  first  permitted  himself  to  believe. 
Five  years  before  he  had  been  charmed  by  a  bright- 
eyed  girl  of  thirteen,  into  whose  presence  he  was 
accidentally  thrown  during  a  journey  up  the  Mis- 
sissippi River.  He  had  never  seen  her  before  or 
since,  though  by  musing  upon  her  image,  his  early 
attachment  had  ripened  into  most  devoted  love. 
But  was  not  this  an  ideal  love  which  he  had  been 
gradually  developing  in  his  imagination  ;  and  would 
the  living  original  realize  this  ideal  .•'  or  even 
so,  could  her  heart  be  trusted  through  the  five 
years  of  absence,  during  which  she  had  passed 
from  girlhood  to  womanhood  ?  These  very  natural 
questions  flitted  across  his  mind  as  he  took  his 
way  to  the  religious  house  where  he  was  to  see 
Sister  Naomi,  and,  as  he  fondly  hoped,  her  charg«, 
the  fair  Virginia. 


A  A'  INTERVIEW. 


175 


On  being  introduced  to  her  presence,  Sister 
Naomi  recognized  him,  and  expressed  her  aston- 
ishment at  his  wonderful  escape  from  the  savages. 
Without  giving  her  time  to  question  him  as  to  his 
course  since  his  escape,  or  his  future  purposes,  he 
presented  the  note  from  Leyba. 

"This  comes  from  the  prisoner  charged  with 
piracy,  Antoine  de  Leyba,"  said  Sister  Naomi,  as 
she  folded  up  the  note,  with  a  tone  of  voice  and 
expression  of  countenance  anything  but  promising. 
"  I  know  nothing  of  his  daughter." 

"  You  will  be  good  enough  to  observe,"  remarked 
Sinclair,  "  that  he  does  not  speak  of  his  daughter, 
but  simply  of  Virginia." 

"  The  man  is  beside  himself !  Why  does  he  talk 
of  a  son  }  Does  he  claim  and  disclaim  children  at 
will.?" 

"  He  has  lived  to  learn  that  sons  and  daughters 
may  be  born  of  the  affections,  —  that  love  and 
charity  form  the  true  bond  of  union." 

"  Francis  Sinclair,"  said  the  Sister,  "  do  you 
know  this  man  }  " 

•'  I  know  that  his  hand  is  stained  with  blood." 

"  Do  you  know  that  it  is  the  blood  of  your  own 
father  that  stains  it  .-• " 

"  Surely  that  cannot  be." 

"  But  it  is.     Will  you  see  her  now  } " 


176  BROUGHT  TO  BAY. 

"  Sister  Naomi,"  said  Sinclair,  "  I  know  nothing 
of  the  death  of  my  father,  and  I  must  not  doubt 
your  words.  But  the  union  of  the  hearts  of  the 
offspring  will  sanctify  the  feud  of  the  parents. 
May  I  see  Virginia  Leyba  .-' " 

"  I  know  nothing  of  her,"  said  the  Sister.  "She 
is  not  under  my  care." 

The  door  opened  and  Virginia  herself  came  into 
the  room !  Immediately  approaching  Sinclair  in 
the  most  unaffected  manner,  she  reached  out  her 
hand,  and  exclaimed,  — 

"  I  am  happy  to  meet  you,  Mr.  Sinclair  —  even 
in  this,  my  day  of  sore  tribulation." 

Sinclair  returned  her  salutation  with  something 
more  than  cordiality,  and  when  he  resumed  his 
seat.  Sister  Naomi  handed  him  an  open  letter,  ask- 
ing him  to  read  it  before  he  allowed  himself  to 
doubt  her  veracity. 

The  paper  read  as  follows  :  — 

The  cause  which  prompted  me  to  pretend  that  the  child  I 
placed  in  your  care  was  my  daughter,  has  passed ;  and  I  do 
but  an  act  of  justice  —  though  you  may  appreciate  it  as  some- 
thing more  —  in  hereby  disclaiming  her.  Her  only  relation 
to  me  is  that  she  has  been  forced  to  receive  a  strange  kind- 
ness from  the  hands  of  one  whom  the  world  considers  inca- 
pable of  such  a  feeling.  I  cannot  risk  the  danger  of  entailing 
infamy  upon  her  by  longer  pretending  to  be  her  parent. 

Antoine  de  Leyba. 


AN  INTERVIEW. 


177 


"  Sister  Naomi,"  said  Sinclair,  after  he  had  read 
this  letter,  "your  words  were  no  doubt  literally 
true ;  I  do  not  complain.  But  this  note,  —  has 
Virginia  been  made  acquainted  with  its  con- 
tents?" 

The  Sister  shook  her  head  to  intimate  that  she 
had  not,  at  the  same  time  reaching  for  the  paper. 

"  The  paper  is  yours,"  admitted  Sinclair.  Then 
turning  to  Virginia  he  said  :  — 

"  I  have  your  father's  permission,  if  it  shall  meet 
your  approbation,  to  see  you  for  a  moment  in  pri- 
vate." 

Virginia  turned  an  inquiring  look  towards  Sister 
Naomi. 

"Not  in  this  house,"  said  the  Sister  with  em- 
phasis. "  Its  rules  require  the  presence  of  a  third 
party." 

"Be  it  so,"  said  Sinclair.  "What  I  have  to  say, 
I  am  willing  to  say  in  the  presence  of  my  Creator ; 
surely  I  should  not  hesitate  to  speak  before  one 
who  professes  to  be  his  servant. 

"  Virginia,  forgive  me  if  I  am  compelled  to  pain 
you  by  speaking  of  your  father,  —  if,  indeed  he  be 
your  father,  which  I  now  more  than  ever  believe. 
I  came  with  his  consent  to  lay  open  before  you  an 
honest  heart  in  which  I  have  worn  your  image  for 
five  long  years  of  separation  and  mystery.  Through 


178  BROUGHT  TO  BAY. 

all  that  trying  period,  that  image  has  grown  brighter, 
and  my  affection  deeper.  My  life  has  been  devoted 
to  a  vain  search  for  you.  Accident  at  length  en- 
abled me  to  see  and  converse  with  your  father,  — 
for  I  must  call  him  your  father,  though  the  depth 
of  his  parental  love  has  driven  him  to  desperation, 
and  he  disowns  you," 

"Oh,  do  not  tell  me  that!"  exclaimed  the  girl, 
"  I  must  tell  you  the  truth  ;  but  his  motive  is 
worthy  of  a  hero.  I  sought  by  all  the  means  which 
a  deep  affection  could  devise  to  wrest  from  him  the 
secret  of  your  concealment.  It  was  all  in  vain  :  he 
told  me  that  he  never  had  a  daughter  !  At  length 
I  unbosomed  all  my  love, — as  I  do  now.  I  told 
him  of  our  journey  from  the  South  ;  of  the  happy 
hours  we  passed  together,  and  all  that  made  that 
voyage  dear  to  me.  I  told  him  of  my  years  of  con- 
stancy, and  poured  out  my  whole  heart  before 
him.  He  was  moved,  —  he  hesitated.  I  appealed 
to  his  father-heart  :  who  would  love  his  Virginia 
when  he  was  gone ;  who  would  seek  to  share  with 
her  the  infamy  which  her  father  dreaded  chiefly  for 
her  sake  }  I  reminded  him  that  I  was  seeking  you 
from  the  scaffold,  not  the  palace,  from  poverty  and 
reproach,  not  riches  and  honor ;  and  I  warned  him 
that  the  world  would  mock  at  his  denial :  he  could 
not  disown  you  if  he  would.     Nay,  I  told  him  that 


AN  INTERVIEW. 


179 


you  would  deny  the  words  which  cost  so  much,  and 
share  his  infamy  with  his  love." 

"  Oh,  how  I  thank  you  for  that ! "  exclaimed 
Virginia,  as  the  hot  tears  coursed  down  her 
cheeks. 

"  A  tear  stole  into  your  father's  eye  perforce  :  I 
had  won  !  Suddenly  appealing  to  me,  he  asked 
how  I  could  know  that  the  love  which  I  professed 
would  touch  an  answering  chord  in  your  heart. 
I  pledged  him  my  honor  that  if  I  found  no  echo 
there,  I  would  renounce  forever  the  right  to  see 
you.     Did  I  pledge  too  mitch  ?  " 

The  agitated  girl  placed  her  hand  in  his  in  si- 
lence. Her  bosom  heaved  with  emotion,  and  her 
form  swayed  from  the  conflict  of  her  feeling.  Pres- 
ently she  said  in  a  low  but  firm  voice  :  — 

"  My  father  trusted  you  when  he  had  known  you 
only  for  an  hour  ;  I  have  known  you  for  years." 

Sister  Naomi  had  looked  upon  this  scene  in 
silent  amazement.  At  first  her  countenance  ex- 
pressed a  feeling  of  insulted  dignity  that  such  a 
scene  should  take  place  in  the  house  of  a  religious 
sisterhood,  and  in  her  presence.  ^  Then  she  exhib- 
ited an  interested  curiosity  ;  then  an  involuntary 
sympathy ;  and  at  last  a  tear  stole  into  the  corner 
of  her  eye  and  nearly  escaped  in  spite  of  her  efforts. 
When   the  lovers  turned   to    part,   she  could   no 


l8o  BROUGHT  TO  BAY. 

longer  suppress  the  woman  within  her,  she  rose, 
and  reuniting  their  hands,  exclaimed  :  — 

"  May  God  bless  you  !  May  the  Lord  bless  you  ! 
May  the  Holy  Virgin  bless  you  !  What  God  hath 
joined  together  let  no  man  put  asunder.  Surely 
there  is  some  miracle  here,  for  only  angels  love 
thus  ! " 

Sinclair  was  willing  to  change  the  current  of 
feeling,  and  replied  :  — 

"  I  offer  you  gratitude,  my  good  Sister,  but  I  am 
compelled  to  assure  you  that  there  is  at  most  but 
one  angel  in  the  case,  and  I  fear,  if  measured  from 
your  standard,  not  a  single  saint." 

The  mind  of  the  good  Sister  Naomi  had  under- 
gone a  complete  revolution.  She  had  long  been 
aware  of  the  state  of  Virginia's  feelings  with  re- 
gard to  Sinclair,  but  had  striven  by  all  means  in 
her  power  to  banish  her  love  and  win  her  to  the 
services  of  the  church.  When  Virginia  had  re- 
tired, therefore,  she  turned  and  addressed  Sin- 
clair :  — 

"  My  dear  sir,  I  give  you  joy.  You  have  had 
the  rare  good  fortune  to  discover  and  possess  your- 
self of  a  wealth  of  love  which  will  no  doubt  prove 
undying  as  it  is  pure.  I  strive  no  more  against  it. 
Never  have  I  devoted  such  unremitting  care  to  the 
guidance  of  a  young  heart  as  I  have  for  five  long 


AN  INTERVIEW.  i8i 

years  given  to  hers.  I  strove  to  win  her  to  the 
church  and  to  lead  her  from  the  world,  to  a  higher 
service,  but  there  is  that  within  her  which  has 
overruled  it  all.  All  have  not  the  same  gifts ;  every 
woman  may  not  attain  the  consecration  of  the  bride 
of  Christ ;  and  it  is  very  manifest  that  Virginia  was 
never  intended  for  the  veil.  But  there  are  other 
duties  in  life.  May  the  blessed  Virgin  watch  over 
her  and  keep  her  from  sin  in  that  world  which  she 
is  calculated  to  bless  and  adorn! " 

Sinclair  expressed  his  gratitude  for  the  good 
will  of  the  Sister,  and  when  he  took  his  leave  it 
was  arranged  that  he  should  be  permitted  to  return 
the  following  day. 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

VIRGINIA    IN    COURT FREEMAN    AGAIN. LEYBA. 

O  INC  LAIR  returned  to  his  lodgings  and  passed 
a  sleepless  night.  He  was  agitated  by  a  thou- 
sand conflicting  emotions.  He  had  seen  and  con- 
versed with  the  object  of  his  long-tried  affection, 
and  found  that  the  real  even  surpassed  the  ideal. 
The  young  and  beautiful  being  of  his  early  attach- 
ment had  developed  to  the  perfect  grace  of  wom- 
anhood. Her  slender  form  had  rounded  into 
the  fulness  of  complete  beauty,  and  all  her  move- 
ments were  calm  and  graceful.  The  gold  of  her 
twining  tresses  had  taken  a  darker  hue ;  and  her 
complexion  was  radiant  with  the  bloom  of  health. 
Within  the  deep  blue  of  her  beaming  eyes,  the 
fountains  of  the  soul  were  welling  up ;  and  the 
clear  rich  tones  of  her  now  saddened  voice  fell  on 
his  ear  like  memories  of  a  happy  dream. 

Then  there  was  that  constant,  trusting,  and  con- 
fiding love  which  he  prized  more  than  life,  —  a  rich 
recompense  for  any  ill.  He  had  tested  it ;  it  was 
his  forever.     And  yet  shadows  would  intrude  on 


VIRGINIA   IN  COURT.  183 

this  bright  picture ;  they  thrust  themselves  darkly 
before  his  mind.  The  mystery  still  hung  about 
Virginia's  parentage  ;  could  it  be  that  the  appar- 
ently hardened  man  he  had  seen  the  day  before 
was  indeed  her  father  ?  He  had  not  said  so,  —  he 
had  even  denied  it ;  but  then  the  very  manner  of 
his  denial  was  confirmation.  If  he  was  not, 
whence  his  profound  interest  in  her  welfare }  Was 
she  the  lost  daughter  of  Mrs.  Freeman,  and  this 
man  Leyba  the  divorced  husband  ?  Could  that  be 
possible .'' 

Then  the  acknowledgment  of  Leyba  that  his 
hand  was  stained  with  blood,  and  the  assurance  of 
Sister  Naomi  that  it  was  the  blood  of  Sinclair's 
father.     O  God,  could  this  be  possible  ? 

Agitated  with  such  thoughts  as  these  Sinclair 
passed  the  night. 

On  the  following  day  he  repaired  to  the  meeting 
with  Virginia,  as  arranged  the  day  before.  The 
scruples  of  Sister  Naomi  respecting  the  presence 
of  a  third  person  seemed  to  have  vanished ;  or 
the  good  Sister  found  it  convenient  to  forget  them. 
She  welcomed  Sinclair  with  great  cordiality, — 
called  her  fair  charge  into  the  room,  and  did  her 
best  to  be  agreeable  by  striving  to  banish  all  re- 
straint. After  a  few  commonplace  observations, 
she  brought   Virginia's  guitar,  and   remarked   to 


1 84  BROUGHT  TO  BAY. 

Sinclair  that  he  should  bear  witness  to  the  pro- 
ficiency of  her  backwoods  pupil  in  at  least  one 
department  of  her  studies,  at  the  same  time 
remarking  that  though  she  had  found  her  pupil 
slow  to  learn  the  lessons  of  the  church,  she  could 
complain  of  no  other  deficiency.  Seeing  that  Vir- 
ginia hesitated,  as  if  the  mingled  sadness  and  hap- 
piness that  filled  her  heart  were  too  deep  for  such 
expression,  she  gently  urged  her  to  relieve  the 
strain  which  her  feelings  had  recently  undergone  by 
the  soothing  influence  of  music. 

"  That  sweet  little  song,"  said  she  to  Virginia, — 
"now  you  may  indeed  feel  its  sentiment." 

With  only  a  moment's  hesitation,  Virginia  took 
the  instrument,  and,  after  touching  the  chords  to  a 
gentle  and  plaintive  prelude,  sang  : — 

'Tis  sweet  to  muse  over  the  past 

Which  brought  only  sighing  and  sorrow; 
To  give  our  despair  to  the  blast, 

And  smile  with  a  hope  for  the  morrow. 
'Tis  joyous  to  meet  the  loved  one 

From  whom  we  had  dreaded  to  sever; 
To  feel  that  our  parting  is  done, 

That  now  we  may  love  on  forever ! 

During  the  interlude  which  followed  the  singing 
of  the  first  stanza.  Sister  Naomi  took  the  oppor- 
tunit)'  to  withdraw  from  the  room. 


VIRGINIA   IN  COURT.  185 

"My  dear  Virginia,"  said  Sinclair,  after  a  brief 
silence,  "where  did  you  find  those  lines  that  so 
fully  express  what  I  this  moment  feel  ?" 

Virginia  blushed  slightly,  and  replied, — 

"Sister  Naomi  called  it  cottonwood  poetry,  in 
allusion  to  its  backwoods  origin." 

"And  so,  my  fair  'Ginia  ventures  into  the 
haunts  of  the  Muses  ?" 

"  Never  but  once,  upon  honor.  These  lines 
comprise  all  my  poetry ;  and  even  these  are  the 
offspring  of  a  moment's  inspiration  which  never 
would  return.  I  once  attempted  to  recall  with 
poetic  coloring  my  recollection  of  the  earthquake 
and  its  scenes  of  startling  grandeur ;  but  all  in 
vain.  The  impressions  came  vividly,  as  they  do 
now, — but  they  were  not  poetry." 

"  The  earthquake,  Virginia  .-•  Were  you  in  New 
Orleans  at  the  time  .''" 

"  Oh,  no,"  said  Virginia  ;  "  not  in  New  Orleans, 
I  was  on  the  Mississippi,  near  New  Madrid.  I 
witnessed  such  scenes  as  tongue  can  never  tell ! 
And  it  was  the  more  terrible  to  me  because  my 
father,  who  had  reclaimed  me  a  few  days  before,  t 
was  yet  almost  a  stranger  to  me,  and  I  knew  not  a 
living  soul  on  board.  And  in  that  dreadful  night, 
when  the  earth  was  heaving  like  a  stormy  sea,  and 
the  river  ran  boiling  and  seething  by  with  a  sullen 


1 86  BROUGHT  TO  BAY. 

roar,  I  first  learned  my  own  strange  history ;  and 
then  I  began  to  return  the  love  of  that  father 
who,  whatever  may  be  his  offences,  has  loved  me 
with  a  fervor  scarcely  human." 

"And  thus  the  light  breaks  in,"  said  Sinclair. 
"  Your  father  found  you,  carried  you  to  Cave-in 
Rock,  and  thence  to  New  Orleans,  on  board  the 
Tippecanoe  ?" 

"  Even  so,  my  shrewd  diviner.  But  how  should 
you  know  this .-'" 

"  Oh,  my  maid  of  mystery,"  responded  Sinclair, 
"  I  begin  to  untangle  the  web.  You  know  the 
purpose  for  which  the  cavern  was  used,  and  the 
awful  fate  which  befel  its  inmates.''" 

"  My  father  told  me  they  all  perished  by  the 
earthquake.  But  surely  you  did  not  learn  all  this 
among  the  savages  .-*" 

"Oh,  no,"  replied  Sinclair,  "I  learned  it  among 
a  kind  and  hospitable  people  whom  yoii  will  not 
call  savages,  —  at  Shawneetown." 

Virginia  started,  turned  deadly  pale,  and  looked 
suspiciously  toward  the  door,  as  if  fearful  that 
there  was  treason  in  Sinclair's  words,  and  that  the 
walls  and  the  doors  were  listening.  Recovering 
herself,  she  said, — 

"Excuse  me.  For  five  long  years. I  have  not 
breathed  that  name;  and  only  once  have  I 'whis- 
pered the  name  I  loved  for  years-!  " 


VIRGINIA    AV  COURT.  187 

"Do  you  know,"  said  Sinclair  tenderly,  "that 
that  whisper  sank  so  deep  into  my  heart  that 
when  I  had  forgotten  my  own  existence  I  still 
remembered  that  low,  confiding  murmur,  —  *  Not 
Virginia  Leyba,  but  'Ginia  Rose  ' !  " 

"And  that  enabled  you  to  trace  out  and  find  my 
dear  bereaved  foster-mother  ?  "  said  Virginia. 

"No,"  said  Sinclair;  "you  give  me  more  credit 
for  shrewdness  than  I  deserve.  I  should  just  as 
soon  have  thought  of  going  to  any  other  town  in 
the  wide  world  to  inquire  for  a  lost  maiden  with 
bright  blue  eyes,  named  'Ginia  Rose." 

Sinclair  then  related  the  particulars  of  his  rescue 
from  the  Indians,  his  arrival  at  the  Roses'  house, 
and  the  kindness  he  had  received  there ;  his  in- 
coherent wanderings  while  laboring  under  the 
effects  of  a  depression  of  the  cranium, —  his  re- 
covery, and  the  mutual  explanations  between 
himself  and  Mrs.  Freeman  ;  and  finally  his  long 
search  after  the  bright-eyed  girl  who  had  so 
bewitched    him    five   years   before. 

"  I  fear,"  said  Virginia,  with  an  arch  smile, 
"  that  this  same  long  search  is  evidence  that  the 
doctor's  newly-invented  trephine  did  not  quite 
accomplish  its  purpose.  But  how  do  you  think  I 
passed  that  same  long  —  oh,  very  long  —  five 
years  ? " 


1 88  BROUGHT  TO  BAY. 

"  Oh,  devoutly  practising  your  Ave  Marias,  of 
course." 

"  Well,"  responded  Virginia,  "  I  am  compelled 
to  tell  you  that  there  was  much  more  devotion  in 
my  prayers  when  the  name  of  a  certain  young 
person  whom  I  supposed  to  have  perished  among 
the  savages,  took  the  place  of  Mary's.  The  truth 
is,  I  was  too  early  trained  to  the  worship  of  God  to 
be  able  to  approach  him  through  the  medium  of 
images,  or  the  intercession  of  Saints." 

"  But  how  did  you  manage  with  the  good  Sister's 
lessons .?" 

"  Oh,  I  first  learned  them  very  dutifully ;  and 
then  I  very  undutifully  argued  their  points,  like  a 
wild  backwoods  girl  as  I  am." 

"  And  did  Sister  Naomi  permit  that } " 

"She  could  do  no  otherwise.  She  pronounced 
me  the  most  studious,  ready,  and  obedient  pupil, 
but  the  most  incorrigible  heretic,  she  had  ever 
known.  She  loved  me  dearly,  and  always  treated 
me  with  great  kindness  ;  but  she  declared  I  was 
the  last  pupil  she  would  receive  from  the  arms  of 
a  heretic  mother." 

Then,  drawing  a  deep  sigh,  she  continued,  — 

"That  poor,  dear  mother  !  —  a  mother  indeed  to 
me.  Would  to  God  I  could  soothe  the  suffering 
of  her  bleeding  heart." 


VIRGINIA   IN  COURT. 


189 


"  She  really  is  not  your  mother,  then  ? "  said 
Sinclair.  "What  is  the  clew  to  this  strange 
mystery  ? " 

Before  Virginia  could  reply  the  door  was  opened 
from  without,  and  two  men  entered  the  room  un- 
announced. One  of  them  was  an  officer  of  the 
law,  —  the  other  gave  his  name  to  Sinclair  as 
"  Mr.  Thomas  Freeman,  of  Limestone,  Kentucky ; 
and  father  of  this  young  lady,"  he  added,  looking 
at  Virginia. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon.  Miss,"  said  the  officer,  "for 
thus  entering  without  notice  ;  but  this  gentleman 
who  procured  the  writ  and  claims  to  be  your 
father —  Help,  sir,  help!  the  young  lady  has 
fainted  " 

Sinclair  caught  the  falling  form  in  his  arms,  and 
bore  her  to  a  sofa.  Water  was  at  hand,  which 
Sinclair,  with  perfect  presence  of  mind,  dashed 
gently  into  her  face ;  and  in  a  few  minutes  she 
was  sufficiently  restored  to  speak.  Still  pale  as 
death,  she  turned  to  Freeman,  saying,  "  God's  will 
be  done!     Do  your  worst,  sir." 

"  My  dearest  Virginia,"  said  Sinclair,  "be  calm ! 
No  harm  can  come  to  you." 

"Officer,  do  your  duty,"  said  Freeman. 

The  officer  then  read  the  writ  of  habeas  corpus, 
issued  out  of  the  United   States    District  Court, 


IQO  BROUGHT  TO  BAY. 

commanding  himself  and  the  woman  known  as 
Sister  Naomi,  or  either  of  them,  to  forthwith  bring 
the  body  of  Virginia  Freeman,  alias  Virginia  Rose, 
alias  Virginia  Leyba,  before  said  court,  now  in 
session,  etc.  The  officer,  who  was  a  gentleman 
in  the  better  sense  of  the  word,  then  courteously 
asked  Virginia  if  she  was  sufficiently  recovered  to 
accompany  him. 

"  I  am  ready  for  any  fate,"  said  she,  still  pale 
and  trembling. 

"  I  have  a  carriage  at  the  door,  'Ginia,"  said 
Freeman,  with  obtrusive  kindness.  "  You  will 
ride  with  me." 

"  Never  !  "  exclaimed  she  resolutely ;  at  the  same 
time  taking  Sinclair's  arm,  and  motioning  the 
officer  to  lead  the  way. 

Virginia  detested  the  man  who  now  claimed  her 
as  his  daughter  when  she  really  supposed  it  was 
so.  She  now  knew  otherwise ;  but  the  memory  of 
his  former  unkindness  to  her  foster-mother  made 
her  almost  loathe  him.  When  they  reached  the 
court-room,  Sinclair  sent  a  note  to  Sister  Naomi, 
informing  her  of  what  had  happened,  and  request- 
ing her  attendance  forthwith. 

"Who  defends  this  case.''"  inquired  the  judge, 
when  all  the  parties  had  arrived. 

Sinclair  replied,  — 


VIRGINIA   IN  COURT. 


191 


"  May  it  please  your  honor,  —  I  respectfully  ask, 
as  next  friend  to  the  young  lady,  to  make  a  short 
statement  of  facts  for  the  purpose  of  enabling  the 
Court  to  decide  who  should  defend,  under  the  cir- 
cumstances." 

Counsel  for  Freeman  objected. 

The  Court  then  asked  Virginia  her  age  and 
name.     She  replied :  — 

"I  believe  I  am  in  my  nineteenth  year.  My 
name  is  Virginia ,"  and  then  after  a  little  hesi- 
tation, she  added  with  great  emotion,  ^^  Not  Vir- 
ginia Freeman.  I  hope  the  Court  will  pardon  me 
for  such  an  answer." 

"  The  Court  is  willing  to  respect  your  feelings," 
said  the  judge  ;  "but  the  least  possible  amount  of 
mystery  will  best  serve  your  cause.  Mr.  Clerk, 
swear  this  gentleman." 

The  oath  was  administered  to  Sinclair,  and  he 
addressed  the  Court  as  follows  :  — 

"  May  it  please  the  Court  :  Five  years  ago  this 
young  lady  was  placed  under  the  guardianship  of 
Sister  Naomi,  now  present,  to  be  educated  and 
reared  to  womanhood  under  her  care  and  protec- 
tion. The  man  who  so  placed  her  I  have  every 
reason  to  believe  is  her  father,  and  that  her  mother 
died  while  the  young  lady  was  an  infant.  A  few 
days  ago,  with  the  assent  of  her  father,  and  the 


192 


BROUGHT  TO  BAY. 


approbation  of  the  Sister,  her  guardian,  the  young 
lady  and  myself  were  affianced.  If  the  Court  so 
judge,  I  am  defendant  in  this  case." 

The  judge  replied  that  the  Court  would  hear  the 
testimony  of  all  the  parties  interested,  and  decide 
the  case  upon  its  merits. 

The  plaintiff's  counsel  had  asked  an  attachment 
for  a  witness  who  had  refused  to  attend  and  tes- 
tify, and  whose  testimony  was  material.  The 
Court  so  ordered  ;  and  in  a  little  while  the  officer 
returned  with  Tim  Rose.  On  being  asked  by  the 
Court  what  excuse  he  had  to  offer  for  refusing  to 
appear  before,  he  respectfully  replied  that  he  would 
state  his  reasons  under  oath.  He  then  consulted 
with  Sinclair  a  moment,  who  asked  the  Court 
whether  testimony  as  to  the  character  of  the  plain- 
tiff  and  his  fitness  to  take  charge  of  the  young 
lady  would  be  admitted.  The  judge  answered  that 
it  would. 

The  attorney  for  the  plaintiff  desired  to  offer 
the  testimony  of  Freeman  himself.  The  judge 
said  he  would  hear  it,  but  added  that  the  young 
lady  and  her  father,  if  present,  would  also  be 
heard. 

To  this  the  plaintiff's  counsel  sneeringly  re- 
plied, "  Oh,  very  well,  we  do  not  object." 

Freeman  then  testified  as  follows  :  — 


VIRGINIA   IN  COURT. 


193 


"  In  the  year  1 798  I  was  united  in  marriage  to 
Catherine  Rose,  at  Limestone,  in  Kentucky.  A 
year  afterwards  a  daughter  was  born  to  us  whom 
we  named  Virginia.  Afterwards  unfortunate  family 
difficulties  raised  a  separation  between  myself  and 
wife,  which  terminated  in  a  divorce  on  her  peti- 
tion. Afterwards  our  child  was  sometimes  in  my 
possession  and  sometimes  in  hers.  But  never  on 
any  occasion  was  she  out  of  my  care  so  long  that 
I  could  forget  her  or  have  the  least  doubt  concern- 
ing her  identity.  At  the  time  of  our  divorce  my 
wife  attempted  to  resume  her  maiden  name,  but 
never  fully  succeeded  ;  and  after  her  removal  to 
Illinois  with  her  parents,  some  years  ago,  she  was 
still  known  by  my  name.  Our  daughter,  however, 
was  urged  —  by  her  mother,  as  I  believe  —  to  dis- 
claim the  name  of  Freeman,  and  was  known  in 
Illinois  only  as  Virginia,  or  more  frequently  'Ginia 
Rose. 

"  Five  years  ago  the  courts  of  Kentucky,  on  a  plea 
of  divorce  in  my  own  behalf,  granted  me  the  custody 
of  the  child.  I  repaired  to  Shawneetown  for  the 
purpose  of  taking  her  to  Kentucky.  But  her 
mother — or  the  family — had  poisoned  her  feel- 
ings against  me  so  that  the  child  had  learned  to 
hate  her  own  father ;  and  I  returned  to  Kentucky 
without  her.     My  child  shortly   afterward   disap- 


194 


BROUGHT   TO  BAY. 


peared.  She  was  sent  away,  as  I  believe,  by  the 
mother  and  the  mother's  family,  to  prevent  me 
from  reclaiming  her. 

"  A  few  days  since  accident  led  me  to  the  dis- 
covery of  the  place  of  her  retreat.  I  saw  her,  and 
recognized  her  instantly.  She  is  not  yet  eighteen 
years  of  age  ;  and  I  claim  the  right  to  exercise 
some  judgment  in  her  choice  of  a  husband." 

The  story  of  Freeman  seemed  to  be  sufficiently 
conclusive ;  and  the  many  spectators  who  were 
present  on  account  of  the  peculiar  interest  excited 
by  the  case,  wondered  what  could  be  urged  against 
so  plain  a  statement.  Freeman  was  cross-ques- 
tioned by  Sinclair,  who  was  prompted  by  Virginia 
in  a  whisper  on  many  points  of  which  he  was 
ignorant. 

"  How  often  did  you  steal  the  child  you  speak  of 
from  its  mother  }  " 

"  I  frequently  had  the  child  with  me,"  said  Free- 
man. 

"  How  long  was  it  out  of  your  sight  at  any  one 
time  before  it  was  two  years  old  } " 

"  Never  over  a  month  until  it  was  a  year  old, 
when  I  did  not  see  it  for  about  six  months." 

"  How  long  was  it  out  of  the  mother's  sight  be- 
fore it  was  a  year  old  ?  " 

"  The  child  was  with  me  from  nine  months  to 


VIRGINIA    IN  COURT.  195 

twelve  months  old,  during  which  time  it  was  not 
seen  by  the  mother." 

•'  You  are  right.  Now,  do  you  think  it  pos- 
sible that  a  mother  who  has  not  seen  her  child  of 
six  months  of  age  for  a  quarter  of  a  year  should 
fail  to  recognize  it  .-* 

"  It  may  be  possible,"  said  the  witness  ;  "  but  I 
rely  on  my  own  memory.  What  has  the  mother's 
knowledge  to  do  with  the  case  .''  " 

"No  matter,"  said  Sinclair.  "And  now,  sir, 
suppose  that  after  you  had  stolen  that  child  of 
only  nine  months, — before  a  child  has  acquired 
any  very  distinctive  features,  — and  had  kept  it  out 
of  its  mother's  sight  for  three  months,  the  mother, 
in  an  effort  to  reclaim  it,  should  get  possession  of 
another  child,  strongly  resembling  her  own ;  might 
she  not  mistake  it  for  her  own  ? " 

"I  admit  that  she  might." 

"May  it  please  the  Court,  I  object  to  these 
questions,"  said  the  plaintiff's  counsel.  "  They  do 
do  not  bear  on  the  plaintiff's  testimony." 

"  May  it  please  the  Court,  we  will  show  presently 
that  they  do.  And  now,  sir,  if  the  mother  should 
thus  get  possession  of  a  child  not  her  own,  and  if, 
six  months  afterward,  you  should  steal  that  child 
away,  would  you  be  more  likely  than  the  mother 
to  discover  the  mistake.''" 


196  BROUGHT  TO  BAY. 

Witness,  by  advice  of  counsel,  declined  answer- 
ing. 

"  Well,  sir,"  resumed  Sinclair,  "  I  ask  you  now, 
in  the  full  view  of  the  case,  and  on  the  strength  of 
your  own  statement,  whether  you  will  swear  that 
you  were  not  mistaken,  and  that  this  young  lady  is 
your  daughter  ? " 

"  I  believe  she  is  my  daughter,"  said  the  witness. 

"Do  you  swear?" 

Witness  did  not  answer,  but  was  permitted  to 
take  his  seat. 

Tim  Rose  was  sworn,  and  testified  as  follows  :  — 

"  I  am  unwillingly  compelled  to  corroborate 
much  that  this  man  has  said.  Catherine  Rose,  his 
former  wife,  is  my  sister.  The  facts  about  the  birth 
of  the  daughter,  and  her  possession  ultimately  by 
father  and  mother,  are  true  —  as  far  as  they  go. 
But  they  are  not  all  the  truth.  It  was  proven  on 
the  application  for  divorce  by  my  sister  that  Free- 
man had  been  guilty  of  the  most  cruel  and  abomi- 
nable abuse  toward  her,  —  beginning  a  few  weeks 
after  marriage,  and  increasing  in  enormity  until  the 
divorce.  He  never  could  have  obtained  an  order 
for  the  possession  of  her  child  where  he  was  known  ; 
nor  could  he  have  taken  her  away  in  any  community 
where  himself  and  the  history  of  the  case  were 
known.     When  he  came  to  Shawneetown  for  that 


VIRGINIA   IN  COURT. 


197 


purpose  the  people  rose  as  one  man,  and  threatened 
him  with  violence  if  he  attempted  to  take  the  child. 
Shortly  afterwards,  however,  the  girl  disappeared ; 
and,  as  I  always  believed  until  now,  by  his  agency." 

•'  You  know  this  young  lady  to  be  the  daughter 
of  the  plaintiff,  do  you  not.-*"  asked  Freeman's 
counsel. 

"  She  is  certainly  the  same  my  sister  raised, 
believing  her  to  be  her  daughter." 

"  Have  you  any  doubt  that  she  is  the  plaintiff's 
daughter.'' " 

"  I  have  not,"  replied  Tim  ;  but  with  manifest 
reluctance. 

Question  by  the  Court. —  "  Do  you  know  whether 
the  alleged  mother  of  the  young  lady — your  sister 
—  consents  to  her  marriage  with  this  gentleman } " 

"  I  know  that  she  does,"  replied  Tim. 

Plaintiff's  counsel  resumed  :  —  "  Was  Mr.  Free- 
man ever  accused  of  ill-treating  his  daughter .'' " 

"  I  think  not,"  replied  Tim. 

"  Do  you  not  know  that  he  always  treated  her 
kindly.-*" 

"  He  may  have  done  so.     I  do  not  know. 

"  Is  he  not  a  respectable  man,  and  a  man  of  prop- 
erty, able  to  support  and  educate  his  daughter 
properly } " 

"  Well,"  responded  Tim  ;  *'  if  a  man  who  would 


198  BROUGHT  TO  BAY. 

compel  his  wife  to  follow  him  through  the  woods 
when  he  went  hunting,  force  her  to  walk  after  him 
for  miles  in  the  wilderness,  and  threaten  to  shoot 
her  if  she  murmured  or  refused  is  so  then  he  is  a 
respectable  man." 

"  Your  name  is  Timothy  Rose,  I  believe  ? "  said 
the  lawyer.  "  Be  good  enough,  Mr.  Timothy  Rose, 
to  tell  the  Court  how  you  happened  to  be  in  this 
town  so  opportunely  for  our  cause .-'" 

"  I  came  here  some  days  since,  in  company  with 
Mr.  Sinclair,  in  search  of  this  young  lady." 

"  How  came  you  to  suspect  she  was  here  .'' " 

"  We  have  had  reason  for  several  years  to  think 
she  was  somewhere  in  this  town,  and  have  looked 
for  her  in  vain  until  now." 

"  You  have  not  told  us  what  led  you  to  a  knowl- 
edge of  her  place  of  concealment :  what  was  it .-'  " 

"  Mr.  Sinclair  can  tell  you  better  than  I,"  replied 
Tim. 

"  But  we  want  your  account,"  said  the  attorney. 

"We  had  heard  that  she  is  now  known  by  a 
strange  name.  There  was  a  person  in  the  town 
bearing  the  same  family  name  ;  and  through  him 
Mr.  Sinclair  learned  where  Virginia  was." 

"  What  was  the  name  she  bore,  and  who  is  this 
person  you  refer  to  .^" 

Tim  Rose  declined  to  answer.     The  Court  inter- 


VI RG I XI A    IN  COURT. 


199 


posed,  and  instructed  the  witness  to  answer  the 
question.  Tim  still  hesitated,  when  Virginia  rose, 
and  exclaimed  with  an  earnestness  almost  terrible, — 

"  Let  the  truth  come !  That  person  was  my 
father,  Antoine  de  Leyba." 

The  words  sent  a  thrill  through  the  court-room. 
All  eyes  were  turned  towards  Virginia,  and  all  in 
breathless  silence  awaited  her  next  words. 

"The  pirate!"  exclaimed  Freeman's  attorney. 

"  Ay,  call  him  pirate,  if  you  will !  He  never 
drew^  tears  of  blood  from  an  innocent  and  injured 
wife  ;  he  never  tortured  my  mother  — " 

The  judge  interposed  and  called  upon  Tim  to 
proceed. 

"  Tell  us,  Timothy,"  said  the  attorney,  with  a 
sarcastic  smile,  "  what  you  know  about  the  circum- 
stances which  led  this  man  Leyba  to  pretend  to  be 
the  parent  of  your  sister's  child." 

"  I  know  nothing  about  it,"  said  Tim,  "and  I  do 
not  believe  it.  But  judging  by  my  own  feelings,  I 
hardly  know  which  would  be  worse :  to  be  proven  the 
daughter  of  Leyba,  or  to  be  compelled  to  go  with 
that  man,  who  is  too  great  a  coward  to  be  a  pirate." 

"  Witness  will  confine  himself  to  a  statement  of 
facts,  and  omit  his  opinions,"  said  the  judge. 

The  attorney  for  Freeman  having  no  more  ques- 
tions to  ask,  the  witness  was  turned  over  to  the 


200  BROUGHT   TO   BAY. 

other  side.  Sinclair  asked  on  cross-examina- 
tion :  — 

"  Has  not  your  father  an  old  negro  slave  named 
Tabby,  and  did  not  this  Tabby  once  belong  to  Free- 
man ?  " 

"  We  have  such  a  servant  in  the  family,"  replied 
Tim,  "and  she  was  formerly  the  property  of  Free- 
man." 

"  Five  years  ago,  when  Virginia  disappeared  so 
strangely,  did  you  not  suspect  this  woman  Tabby 
of  being  privy  to  the  abduction  .-'  " 

"I  certainly  did,"  was  the  reply. 

"  Did  she  not  have  abundant  opportunity,  if  so 
disposed,  while  living  at  Freeman's  to  change  the 
child  which  was  under  her  care,  and  permit  Mrs. 
Freeman  to  reclaim  the  wrong  child  .■*  " 

"  If  she  had  any  motive  to  do  it,  the  old  hag  is 
cunning  enough,"  replied  Tim. 

"  How  old  would  your  sister's  child  be  now,  if 
living  .-* " 

"She  was  born  in  the  year  1798,  on  the  first 
day  of  November,  I  believe," 

"  Was  it  not  October  }     Think  a  moment." 

"  I  may  be  mistaken,"  said  Tim,  "  I  am  afraid  to 
be  positive." 

Tim  took  his  seat,  and  Sister  Naomi  was  called. 

"  Sister  Naomi,"  said  the  attorney  for  Freeman, 


VIRGINIA   IN  COURT.  20I 

with  a  complete  change  of  manner,  "  we  are  pleased 
to  see  a  disinterested  witness  on  the  stand.  Be 
good  enough  to  tell  us  all  you  know  about  the  par- 
entage of  this  young  lady." 

"  I  have  known  her  father  for  fifteen  years,"  said 
the  Sister,  —  "  the  man  known  as  Leyba.  At  least 
so  long  ago  I  knew  that  he  had  a  daughter  in  Ken- 
tucky (and  afterward  in  Illinois)  in  the  care  of  a 
woman  who  believed  her  to  be  her  own.  The  girl 
was  left  in  my  care  five  years  ago,  though  the 
father  had  promised  to  bring  her  two  years  sooner. 
He  has  always  paid  for  her  support  and  tuition  until 
the  present  time." 

Question  by  the  attorney.  —  "  Have  you  any  evi- 
dence that  the  young  lady  is  his  child,  except  his 
assertion  when  he  brought  her  to  you  .-' " 

"  He  had  spoken  to  me  of  her,  several  years  be- 
fore," said  the  Sister. 

"What  was  his  reason  for  not  reclaiming  her 


sooner 


?" 


"  Regard  for  the  feelings  of  the  kind  lady  whose 
mistaken  affection  had  nurtured  her  so  kindly." 

"  And  why  did  he  finally  take  the  child  away } " 
asked  the  attorney. 

"  Solely  for  the  sake  of  her  soul.  Her  foster- 
mother  was  a  kind,  good  lady,  but  a  heretic." 

"  And  do  you  really  believe  that  this  young  lady 
is  the  daughter  of  the  pirate  Leyba  ?  " 


202  BROUGHT   TO  BAY. 

"I  do  believe  she  is  the  daughter  of  the  man 
who  is  here  known  by  that  name,"  was  the  reply. 
"But  his  name  is  Antoine  de  — " 

"  Leyba !  "  exclaimed  Virginia,  in  a  tone  which 
so  startled  the  good  Sister  that  she  could  not 
finish  the  sentence. 

"  No  matter  about  the  name,"  remarked  the 
judge. 

"Will  you  tell  us,  if  you  please,"  said  the  attor- 
ney, with  much  less  deference  in  his  tone,  as  he 
found  the  witness  not  likely  to  serve  his  purpose, 
"how  a  love  affair  ever  managed  to  come  into  ex- 
istence among  the  good  and  pious  Sisters  of  your 
house .'' " 

Sister  Naomi  related  the  manner  of  Sinclair's 
first  meeting  with  Virginia,  his  persevering  efforts 
to  find  her,  and  his  coming  to  the  Sisters'  house 
with  the  written  consent  of  her  father  to  see 
Virginia. 

When  she  had  concluded  the  judge  turned  to 
the  marshal,  and  ordered  him  to  bring  the  man 
Leyba  into  court,  saying,  "  This  is  a  strange  case, 
and  the  Court  wants  all  the  facts  which  can  be 
obtained." 

While  the  officer  was  gone  for  the  prisoner, 
Sinclair  and  Virginia  consulted  together  in  a  low 
tone ;  while  the  crowd  of  persons  in  the  house  was 


VIRGINIA   IN  COXRT. 


203 


still  increasing  from  the  new  interest  given  to  the 
case  by  the  order  to  bring  de  Leyba. 

Tim  Rose  really  believed  Virginia  to  be  his 
sister's  child,  and  he  would  not  see  her  pass  into 
Freeman's  keeping  on  any  terms  ;  yet  his  feelings 
revolted  from  the  attempt  to  prove  his  sister's 
daughter  the  child  of  Leyba,  the  pirate.  He  used 
argument  and  persuasion  to  induce  her  to  deny  de 
Leyba's  claims,  trusting  that  the  Court  would 
commit  her  to  her  mother's  care,  instead  of  Free- 
man's.    She  was  immovable. 

"  Come  honor  or  shame,  come  life  or  death," 
she  replied,  "  I  will  not  disown  my  father.  I  will 
plead  his  parental  love  at  the  bar  of  heaven  against 
his  alleged  crimes  :  at  the  bar  of  the  world,  I  will 
not  plead  ;  it  cannot  destroy  my  consciousness  of 
right." 

Tim  then  turned  to  Sinclair,  demanding  if  he 
required  such  a  sacrifice. 

"  God  forbid,"  said  Sinclair.  **  I  would  resign 
her  forever  rather  than  see  the  slightest  blemish 
fall  on  her  life  —  even  by  inheritance." 

"  Oh,  do  not  say  that !  "  pleaded  Virginia ;  "  the 
thought  is  unworthy  of  you." 

Amid  the  murmurs  of  the  expectant  audience, 
the  officer  now  brought  Leyba  into  the  court- 
room.    He  was  unaware  of  the  object  for  which 


204  BROUGHT  TO  BAY. 

he  had  been  brought ;  and  seeing  his  daughter  in 
the  seat  of  the  witnesses,  he  exclaimed  with  vio- 
lent emphasis,  — 

"  Hell-hounds  !  Have  you  brought  my  child  to 
testify  against  me  ?  I  dare  you  —  I  defy  you ! 
She  will  but  speak  of  my  love  and  tenderness  ; 
she  will  tell  you  that  the  world,  with  all  its  soul- 
destroying  laws,  could  not  destroy  one  affection ; 
and  that  the  shadow  of  a  crime  I  did  not  commit, 
in  which  I  have  walked  for  twenty  years,  could  not 
blight  the  love  I  bore  my  child." 

Virginia  hastened  to  her  father's  side,  threw  her 
arms  about  his  neck  and  wept.  When  she  told 
him  the  object  of  his  being  brought  into  court, 
Leyba  instantly  controlled  himself,  folded  his  arms 
on  his  breast,  and  calmly  said,  "I  am  ready." 

"The  witness  will  be  sworn,"  said  the  judge. 
"  Though  already  convicted  of  an  infamous  crime, 
the  Court  will  hear  him." 

"  An  oath  would  be  mockery  to  one  who  has 
been  the  victim  of  your  laws  for  twenty  years," 
said  the  prisoner.  "  The  zvord  of  de  Leyba  must 
suffice." 

Sinclair  looked  inquiringly  at  the  judge ;  but 
the  Court  said  it  knew  no  way  to  compel  the 
witness  to  take  the  oath ;  for  if  he  were  com- 
mitted for  contempt,  it  could  only  be  to  the  same 


VIRGINIA   IN  COURT.  205 

prison  to  which  he  was  already  condemned,  and 
the  examination  was  allowed  to  proceed. 

"Is  this  young  lady  your  daughter?"  asked 
Sinclair. 

"  No,"  exclaimed  Leyba,  sternly.  "  I  never  had 
a  daughter ! " 

"  May  it  please  the  Court,"  said  the  attorney  for 
Freeman,  "  we  ask  a  decision  in  our  favor  on  that 
assumption." 

"  The  Court  is  not  prepared  to  come  to  a  decis- 
ion," said  the  judge.  "  The  answer  of  the  witness 
contradicts  the  words  he  has  already  uttered. 
The  Court  will  hear  the  lady  herself." 

"May  the  God  of  justice  bless  you  !  "  exclaimed 
Virginia.  "  Not  that  I  may  aid  in  determining 
who  is  to  have  control  of  this  mortal  form,  —  God 
alone  can  control  the  spirit, — but  that  I  may 
prove  myself  worthy  of  a  father  who  breaks  his 
own  heart,  who  denies  his  own  affection  to  save  his 
child  from  sharing  his  infamy.  Know,  then,  most 
righteous  judge,  that  I  elect  to  take  the  infamy 
with  the  love.  When  I  deny  my  father,  may  I  be 
denied  by  my  Saviour." 

Trembling  with  emotion,  her  whole  countenance 
lighted  up  by  the  soul  within,  she  turned  to  de 
Leyba :  — 

"  Look  upon  me,  father ! "   she  cried.     "  Do  I 


2o6  BROUGHT  TO  BAY. 

look  like  a  craven  to  fear  the  world's  contempt  ? 
Do  you  read  the  word  ingrate  upon  my  forehead  ? 
Have  I  not  loved  you  too  deeply,  too  truly,  to  for- 
sake you  in  your  day  of  trial  ?  This  tongue  which 
you  tell  me  syllables  the  very  tones  of  that  mother 
I  never  knew,  —  think  you  it  can  deny  you  when 
ignominy  falls  upon  you,  —  that  it  can  thus  dis- 
grace and  dishonor  her  memory  ?  No,  my  father, 
I  dare  the  world's  contempt,  —  and  will  you  be  less 
resolute  ? " 

De  Leyba  rose  instantly  as  Virginia  concluded, 
and  exclaimed  :  — 

"  I  am  ready.  Let  the  oath  be  administered,  — 
infamous  though  I  be." 

The  conduct  of  Leyba  toward  Virginia  had  evi- 
dently changed  the  feeling  of  the  people,  and  when 
he  rose  to  take  the  oath  a  sudden  murmur  of 
applause  ran  through  the  court-room.  It  was  evi- 
dent from  the  expression  upon  the  countenance  of 
the  multitude  that  they  doubted  whether  a  man 
who  could  thus  love  his  child,  —  thus  voluntarily 
disclaim  and  deny  her  forever  for  the  sake  of  shield- 
ing her  reputation  from  the  stains  which  soiled  his 
own,  —  could  be  the  hardened  wretch  he  was  be- 
lieved. 

When  Leyba  had  taken  the  oath,  he  began  in  a 
tone  of  assumed  calmness,  painful  to  hear :  — 


VIRGINIA   IN  COURT. 


207 


May  it  please  the  Court  :  Seventeen  years  ago 
I  had  the  misfortune  to  lose  a  dear  and  devoted 
wife  by  the  hand  of  death,  while  descending  the 
Ohio,  just  about  Limestone.  My  child  was  with 
me.  I  was  alone  with  her ;  and  I  had  not  a  friend 
in  the  wide  world.  To  go  down  the  river  alone 
with  that  infant  was  impossible,  and  I  placed  it  for 
a  few  days  in  the  care  of  a  negro  nurse.  The  very 
next  day  the  child  was  stolen  away  by  this  man 
here  present,  Mr.  Rose,  in  mistake  for  another. 
From  that  day  to  this,  I  have  never  lost  sight  of 
her  for  a  month  at  once.  Five  years  ago  I  re- 
claimed her  by  the  agency  of  the  same  nurse  into 
whose  care  I  committed  her  more  than  twelve 
years  before.  Since  then  she  has  been  in  the  care 
and  under  the  protection  of  Sister  Naomi." 

"  And  what  became  of  my  daughter .-' "  exclaimed 
Freeman. 

"  You  must  seek  her  at  the  hands  of  the  negro 
nurse  in  whose  care  you  left  her.  I  can  only  say 
that  had  she  remained  in  the  hands  of  her  mother, 
she  might  still  be  there  to  gladden  her  heart.  I 
have  done."     And  Leyba  took  his  seat. 

"The  Court  awards  the  keeping  of  the  young 
lady  to  Sister  Naomi,  until  she  be  twenty-one 
years  of  age,"  decided  the  judge,  "  unless  sooner 
married." 


2o8  BROUGHT  TO  BAY. 

A  shout  of  approbation  went  up  from  the  audi- 
tors as  the  judge  pronounced  the  decision  of  the 
court. 

Virginia  embraced  her  father,  who  was  then  re- 
conducted to  his  prison  ;  and  Sinclair  accompanied 
Virginia  and  the  good  Sister  Naomi  home. 


CHAPTER  XV. 

SANTA  CLARA. ANTOINE  DE  ULLOA. 

"\T  THEN  Sinclair  had  returned  to  his  quarters, 
he  felt  confused  and  bewildered.  The  depth 
and  strength  of  Virginia's  character,  which  had 
been  disclosed  to  him  so  recently,  had  been  a  reve- 
lation to  him.  He  knew  that  she  was  beautiful, 
even  beyond  his  fondest  recollections,  his  brightest 
dreams ;  he  knew  that  she  was  generous,  sympa- 
thetic, and  affectionate.  But  he  was  hardly  pre- 
pared for  the  courage  she  had  shown,  her  heroic 
devotion  to  the  doomed  man  whom  she  persisted 
in  claiming  as  her  father.  What  was  that  father's 
real  character.?  What  the  mystery  which  envel- 
oped it }  Evidently,  he  was  no  common  man  ;  for 
with  a  full  knowledge  of  his  life  on  her  part,  he 
had  won  from  his  daughter,  who  never  knew  him 
until  she  was  passing  out  of  childhood,  such  love 
and  such  devotion  as  reflected  back  honor  even 
upon  the  criminal  himself.  Was  he  indeed  a  crim- 
inal ?  He  did  not  know  the  specific  charge  on 
which  Leyba  had  been  convicted,  nor  the  evidence 


210  BROUGHT  TO  BAY. 

upon  which  that  conviction  had  been  obtained. 
But  did  he  not  know,  at  least,  that  Leyba  was  a 
party  to  the  seizure  of  the  Tippecanoe  ?  He 
thought  of  Leyba's  words,  —  that  under  the 
shadow  of  a  crime  which  he  did  not  commit,  he 
had  walked  for  years.  What  hidden  mystery 
lurked  behind  Sister  Naomi's  statement,  —  that 
Leyba's  hands  were  red  with  the  blood  of  Sinclair's 
own  father } 

All  these  questions  came  crowding  upon  him  at 
once  ;  and  he  could  find  no  answer.  He  had  some 
recollection  of  hearing  it  said  in  his  childhood  that 
that  his  father  had  fallen  in  a  duel ;  but  duelling 
was  not  considered  criminal  in  Cuba,  where  his 
youthful  days  had  been  passed. 

Leyba  had  at  one  time  —  apparently  by  inadver- 
tence—  spoken  of  Virginia  as  "Angela;"  if  that 
were  her  real  name,  why  had  she  not  borne  it  since 
being  reunited  to  her  father.  Was  there  further 
mystery  connected  with  that  name  so  unwittingly 
pronounced }  He  had  even  been  led  to  suspect 
that  the  name  Leyba  bore  was  not  his  real  one : 
was  that  real  name  stained  with  crime .' 

Unable  to  find  rest,  his  thoughts  confused  them- 
selves in  vain  attempts  to  solve  the  mysteries 
which  for  the  last  few  days  had  been  so  rapidly 
gathering  about  him.     Baflfled  in  every  attempt  to 


SANTA    CLARA.  211 

unravel  the  tangled  web,  he  turned  his  troubled 
thoughts  from  these  vain  questionings.  He  passed 
in  review  the  more  recent  events  of  his  life :  his 
hospitable  reception  at  Shawneetown  ;  the  strange 
fortune  which  had  led  him  there  in  so  remarkable 
a  manner  ;  and  the  clew  of  her  lost  Virginia  which 
he  had  brought  her  mother,  as  he  had  thought  her : 
a  devoted  mother,  who  had  mourned  her  lost  dar- 
ling through  all  these  years,  and  who  would  now 
find  the  lost  one  only  to  lose  the  right  to  call  her 
daughter ! 

For  the  first  time  in  his  life,  Sinclair  became 
troubled  about  his  own  early  history.  His  mother 
had  always  been  reticent  on  the  subject  of  his 
father's  death,  saying  only  that  he  had  died  while 
his  son  was  but  an  infant.  Then.,  while  his 
thoughts  were  lingering  on  his  new  history,  came 
to  him  the  question  which  comes  to  every  un- 
selfish man  who  has  won  the  heart  of  a  noble 
woman :  was  he  worthy  of  that  deep  and  un- 
questioning affection  which  had  been  given  him 
by  Virginia  .-* 

Burdened  by  such  thoughts  as  these,  Sinclair 
retired  to  a  disturbed  slumber  to  await  such  fur- 
ther revelations  as  the  morrow  might  bring. 

Before   leaving  the  court-room,  Leyba  had  re- 


212  BROUGHT  TO  BAY. 

quested  Sinclair  and  Virginia  to  visit  him  in  prison 
on  the  next  day,  as  he  wished  to  make  some  com- 
munication of  importance  to  them.  They  accord- 
ingly proceeded  on  the  next  morning  to  the  prison 
where  Leyba  was  confined.  He  received  them 
with  much  emotion,  taking  Sinclair's  hand,  and 
pressing  it  in  silence,  while  his  chest  heaved  with 
the  earnestness  of  his  feelings.  He  pressed  his 
daughter  to  his  bosom  and  imprinted  a  kiss  upon 
her  cheek,  while  a  tear  traced  its  unwonted  way 
down  his  face. 

"  My  son,"  said  he,  "  my  eyes  have  long  been 
a  stranger  to  tears ;  and  now  that  your  faithfulness 
and  the  love  of  my  daughter  have  broken  up  the 
fountain  again,  they  burn  my  flesh  like  fire.  Your 
hearts  have  not  yet  been  seared  by  the  world's 
injustice,  as  by  a  hot  iron  ;  and  the  love  I  bear  to 
you  —  the  love  you  bear  to  me  —  prompts  me  to 
tell  you  the  history  of  a  soul  stricken  blind  by  the 
cruel  glare  of  the  world's  'justice.' 

"  Some  of  the  events  I  am  about  to  relate  are 
already  known  to  my  daughter ;  but  I  repeat  them 
to  you,  my  son,  that  you  may  understand  all ;  what 
was  my  offence  against  the  world,  —  and  what  the 
world's  offence  to  me. 

"  I  was  born  in  the  city  of  Havana.  My  father, 
Antoine  de  Ulloa " 


SANTA    CLARA. 


213 


"  What,"  Hiterrupted  Sinclair,  "  de  Ulloa  ?  Surely 
you  are  not " 

"Do  not  interrupt  me,"  said  Leyba  sternly. 
"  My  father  gave  me  a  good  education,  and  when 
I  was  old  enough  procured  me  admission  into  the 
army  as  a  lieutenant.  My  knowledge  of  the  Eng- 
lish language,  and  my  father's  influence,  procured 
me  the  situation  of  private  secretary  to  the  Cap- 
tain-General ;  and  for  some  time  I  was  apparently 
on  the  high  road  to  preferment.  The  captain  of 
the  company  to  which  I  belonged  was  a  man 
named  Santa  Clara.  He  was  a  proud,  overbearing 
man  —  why  do  you  tremble,  my  son  .■*  Know  you 
anything  of  his  history  .''" 

"  My  father,"  interposed  Virginia,  "  Don  Santa 
Clara  was  his  father.  But  he  can  bear  it ;  tell  it 
all." 

"  My  father's  name  certainly  was  Santa  Clara," 
said  Sinclair.  "My  own  is  but  the  English  cor- 
ruption of  his.  Sister  Naomi  once  intimated  that 
difficulties  had  existed  between  my  father  and 
yourself.     No  matter.     I  am  prepared  for  all." 

De  Leyba  continued  : — 

"Sister  Naomi  might  also  have  informed  you 
that  Leyba  is  not  my  name.  Ah,  I  remember 
when  in  the  gay  circles  of  Havana  I  was  proud  of 
the  name  of  de  Ulloa !" 


214  BROUGHT  TO  BAY. 

"Your  father  crossed  my  path.  He  taunted  me 
with  the  charge  of  meanness  ;  he  insulted  me  with 
the  assertion  that  I  had  obtained  my  place  by 
undermining  him  in  the  good-will  of  the  Captain- 
General.  I  scorned  the  deed  he  charged  me  with, 
but  my  proud  heart  would  not  stoop  to  call  it 
false.  He  reiterated  it,  still  more  insultingly ; 
and  in  a  moment  of  sudden  passion  I  pronounced 
him  a  liar. 

"That  which  I  knew  must  happen  followed. 
He  challenged  me  to  mortal  combat.  We  fought 
beyond  the  city,  and  alone.  Oh,  the  curse,  the 
folly  of  that  act !  One  single  witness  would  have 
saved  me  from  infamy.  But  there  was  none ;  we 
fought  with  none  to  see  but  God.  Don  Santa 
Clara  fell,  and  I  escaped  unharmed.  When  I  saw 
him  lying  dead  before  me,  then,  and  not  till  then, 
the  probable  consequences  of  my  deed  occurred  to 
me.  I  should  be  charged  with  murder,  —  the  mur- 
der of  my  superior  officer.  I  fled  to  the  interior 
of  the  country.  Ten  days  afterwards  I  was  arrest- 
ed and  taken  to  Havana  to  be  tried  for  murder, 
and,  —  O  God,  was  it  possible  !  —  for  robbery  also. 
The  body  of  Don  Santa  Clara  had  been  found, 
his  pockets  cut  open,  and  rifled  of  his  watch  and 
a  large  sum  of  money  which  he  was  known  to 
have  had  when  he  left  the  city  in  the  morning. 


SANTA    CLARA. 


215 


May  God  forgive  the  man  who  did  that  deed,  and 
brought  infamy  on  my  head  ! 

"  On  the  trial  I  succeeded  in  producing  a  chal- 
lenge to  myself  in  his  handwriting.  This  I  had 
never  received  ;  but  it  had  been  found  among  the 
papers  which  had  been  taken  from  his  pockets. 
This  paper  saved  my  life.  But  I  could  not  account 
for  the  rifling  of  his  pockets  and  the  loss  of  his 
money  and  watch  ;  and  so  the  law  —  the  law  which 
is  so  much  extolled ;  which  all  men  are  called  upon 
to  revere  ;  which  is  the  strong  barrier  against  all 
wrong, — that  law  pronounced  me  a  robber!  No 
matter  that  my  character  had  always  been  above 
reproach  ;  no  matter  that  there  was  no  shadow  of 
proof  of  robbery  against  me,  while  I  admitted  the 
duel ;  no  matter  that  such  a  decision  would  blast 
my  hopes  forever;  I  was  convicted  of  theft, 
and  doomed  to  the  degrading  punishment  of  the 
chain-gang.  Oh,  had  it  only  been  death !  I  was 
chained  with  a  gang  of  vulgar  thieves,  and  sent  to 
a  distant  part  of  the  island  to  work  upon  a  sea- 
coast  fortification.  Here  for  three  months  I  re- 
mained bearing  the  jeers  and  taunts  of  my  fellow- 
prisoners,  who,  because  I  did  not  sink  to  their 
own  low  level,  named  me  'the  gentleman  robber.' 

"  I  had  not  yet  let  go  my  integrity,  notwith- 
standing   this    taste    of    the    world's    justice.      I 


2l6  BROUGHT  TO  BAY. 

endeavored  to  palliate  the  action  of  the  court, 
which  condemned  me,  and  the  law  which  per- 
mitted the  condemnation ;  and  I  fondly  looked 
forward  to  the  day  when,  in  some  other  land,  I 
should  be  able  to  stand  upright  as  a  man !  I  was 
willing  to  bear  exile  from  my  native  land  forever, 
while  the  hope  was  left  me  of  winning  an  honest 
reputation  in  another. 

"  One  evening  pirates  landed  on  the  coast,  drove 
the  soldiers  from  their  position,  and  set  the  pris- 
oners free,  offering  them  the  protection  of  their 
vessel.  I  accepted  the  offer,  and  on  going  on 
board  was  immediately  carried  to  sea. 

"  The  name  of  this  pirate  captain  I  have  for- 
gotten. He  was  a  Spaniard,  and  possessed  the 
manners  and  address  of  a  gentleman.  That  man 
heard  my  story  through,  with  interest.  When  I 
had  finished  he  said  that  he  would  not  insult  me 
by  asking  me  to  join  his  band ;  he  wished  me 
better  fortune  in  the  world  to  which  I  sought  to 
return,  and  hoped  that  I  might  not  have  cause  to 
regret  that  I  had  not  accepted  the  career  as  well 
as  the  hospitality  of  a  pirate,  and  promised  to  put 
me  ashore  somewhere  in  the  United  States.  I 
learned  that  man's  history :  he  too  had  known  the 
tender  mercies  of  the  unrelenting  law.  But  to 
myself. 


SANTA    CLARA. 


217 


"  After  some  time  I  was  put  on  board  a  vessel 
bound  to  New  Orleans,  and  soon  reached  that  city 
in  safety.  I  assumed  the  name  of  Leyba,  and 
sought  employment  as  a  teacher  of  the  Spanish 
language.  I  should  have  mentioned  that  the 
pirate  captain  had  furnished  me  with  suitable 
clothing  and  a  sum  of  money  sufficient  for  my 
immediate  wants. 

"  Before  I  had  been  in  New  Orleans  three  days, 
a  police  officer  tapped  me  on  the  shoulder,  and 
calling  me  Ulloa,  bade  me  beware,  as  the  police 
knew  my  history.  My  heart  sank  within  me.  I 
almost  despaired  of  ever  being  able  to  get  beyond 
the  reach  of  that  unjust  sentence  which  had  fol- 
lowed me  thus  far.  Still,  determined  to  hold  fast 
my  integrity,  I  privately  left  the  city  and  took 
passage  in  a  brig  bound  for  New  York,  which  city 
I  reached  after  a  short  and  prosperous  voyage. 

"  I  remained  a  year  in  the  city  of  New  York, 
supporting  myself  by  giving  lessons  in  the  Spanish 
language.  At  the  end  of  that  time  I  could  restrain 
my  desire  to  hear  from  my  father  no  longer.  I 
wrote  to  him  at  Havana,  still  protesting  my  in- 
nocence of  the  infamous  crime  for  which  I  had 
suffered,  and  giving  an  account  of  my  life  since  my 
escape  ;  and  I  begged  that  he  would  write  to  me, 
that  I  might  feel  that  he  at  least  had  not  forsaken 


2i8  BROUGHT  TO  BAY. 

me.  I  waited  long  for  a  reply  to  this  letter.  My 
father  had  never  fully  believed  in  my  guilt,  al- 
though apparently  disposed  to  doubt  my  inno- 
cence ;  and  I  confidently  hoped  that  after  receiving 
my  letter  he  could  doubt  no  longer. 

"At  length  I  received  my  father's  reply  to 
that  letter.  Eternal  God  !  How  it  crushed  my 
wounded  spirit.  In  that  letter  my  own  father, 
who  had  never  known  in  all  my  life  a  dishonest 
thought  or  deed,  not  only  asserted  his  belief  of  the 
charge  of  robbery  that  had  been  brought  against 
me,  but  accused  me  also  of  piracy !  I  had  ex- 
plained the  mode  of  my  escape  from  the  island, 
but  he  now  pronounced  it  false,  and  said  the  police 
had  ascertained  that  I  had  voluntarily  joined  the 
pirates  in  an  act  of  piracy.  Merciful  God !  what 
more  could  he  have  added  to  crush  me  down 
forever.-*  And  yet  his  cruelty  went  further  yet. 
He  directed  his  letter  to  Antoine  de  Ulloa,  alias  de 
Leyba  ;  and  to  the  care  of  a  police  officer.  When 
I  asked  the  officer  how  he  found  me,  he  replied, 
'  Oh,  we  have  watched  you  for  a  year  past.'  " 

Here  Sinclair  interrupted  him  to  inquire  if  it 
might  not  be  possible  that  his  letter  had  never 
reached  its  destination,  but  had  been  intercepted, 
and  that  the  reply  had  not  been  written  by  his 
father. 


ANTOINE  DE   ULLOA. 


219 


"  No,"  said  Ulloa.  "  I  flew  to  that  suspicion 
myself,  as  a  relief  from  the  thought  that  my 
father — my  father — could  have  written  me  that 
letter;  but  I  could  not  be  deceived  in  the  hand- 
writing; and  the  conviction  was  forced  upon  me 
that  even  my  father  had  steeled  his  heart  against 
me. 

"  After  receiving  that  letter  I  locked  myself  in 
my  room  for  several  days,  meditating  on  my  fate 
and  deciding  upon  my  future  course.  For  a  short 
time  the  thought  of  self-destruction  haunted  me  ; 
but  I  put  it  away  forever  as  unworthy  of  me.  I 
felt  myself  as  wholly  undeserving  the  world's  scorn 
and  hatred,  and  determined  to  renew  my  efforts  to 
clear  my  life  of  stain.  But  a  rising  resentment 
against  the  world  and  its  unjust  laws  took  pos- 
session of  me ;  and  I  resolved,  if  finally  compelled 
to  stand  at  bay,  to  defy  that  law  which  denied  me 
its  protection. 

"  I  determined  to  remain  in  New  York,  where  I 
had  succeeded  in  gaining  some  repute  as  teacher 
of  the  Spanish  language ;  but  I  also  resolved  that 
myself  and  the  officers  of  the  law  should  under- 
stand each  other  thoroughly.  To  this  end  I 
sought  an  introduction  to  the  chief  of  police,  told 
him  my  story,  and  asked  that  he  would  give  his 
officers  such   instruction  as  would  save  me  from 


220  BROUGHT   TO  BAY. 

unnecessary  annoyance.  I  had  no  objection  to 
being  known  to  the  police,  and  even  watched  by 
them  ;  but  I  called  his  attention  to  the  fact  that 
any  breath  of  suspicion  would  destroy  my  only 
hope  of  gaining  an  honest  livelihood.  What  was 
his  reply  .'*  Hear  it,  God  of  Justice  !  He  told  me 
it  was  his  duty  to  catch  thieves,  and  execute  the 
laws ;  that  the  law  had  pronounced  me  a  thief,  and 
that  his  duty  required  him  to  warn  others  of  the 
law's  decision  whenever  he  thought  their  safety 
required  it.  And  I  did  not  strike  him  down,  like 
a  dog,  as  he  deserved !  Still  my  visit  to  the  police 
appeared  to  have  saved  me  from  any  public  ex- 
posure, although  I  was  often  aware  that  an  officer 
was  dogging  my  steps. 

"  One  of  my  first  pupils  in  New  York  was  a 
young  lady  named  Loring,  — Angela  Loring." 

Ulloa  hid  his  face  and  wept.  When  he  resumed, 
turning  to  Virginia,  he  said  :  — 

"  She  was  the  mother  of  my  daughter,  and  while 
she  lived  proved  to  me  indeed  a  good  angel.  Our 
attachment  was  mutual  from  the  first  hour  of  our 
acquaintance,  and  for  several  months  we  met  al- 
most daily.  I  succeeded  in  establishing  a  reputa- 
tion as  a  successful  teacher,  and  as  soon  as  my 
income  was  large  enough,  I  proposed  marriage  to 
Angela,  intending  to   continue   my   residence   in 


ANTOINE   DE   ULLOA.  221 

New  York.  I  was  accepted,  and  the  wedding-day 
appointed.  Before  the  day  came,  a  police  officer 
called  upon  her  father,  and  warned  him  that  his 
daughter  was  about  to  be  united  to  a  thief.  Her 
father  called  for  proofs,  and  the  law's  officer  con- 
vinced him  that  I  had  been  found  guilty  by  the 
law,  —  ah,  the  laio  !  Curses  on  its  injustice  !  It 
drove  me  to  the  contest,  and  I  will  triumph  in  the 
end. 

"  It  was  the  old  story,  —  her  father  was  convinced 
and  he  forbade  the  marriage.  But  my  heroic 
Angela  was  faithful  to  the  end.  When  convinced 
beyond  a  doubt,  that  I  had  been  convicted  by 
the  law,  she  still  upheld  my  innocence,  and  no 
decision  of  the  courts  could  shake  her  faith.  But 
her  father  remained  inexorable.  Then  she  pleaded 
my  good  conduct  since  my  escape,  and  urged 
that  as  evidence  of  repentance  and  reformation. 
What,  think  you,  was  the  answer }  '  Bad  men  never 
repent  :  a  convicted  thief  is  never  after  to  be 
trusted ! '  It  is  the  moral  code  of  hell,  and  would 
forever  prevent  the  return  of  the  repentant  to  the 
paths  of  virtue.  But  this  one  frail,  delicate  woman 
turned  from  all  else  to  the  man  whom  all  the  world 
distrusted.  Angela  told  her  father  that  she  would 
fulfil  her  promise  at  all  hazards.  And  then  that 
father,  a  professed  follower  of  Him  who  has  taught 


222  BROUGHT   TO  BAY. 

his  disciples  to  forgive  their  enemies,  showed  how 
well  he  had  learned  his  lesson  by  having  me 
arrested  and  thrown  into  prison  !  We  were  mar- 
ried nevertheless.  Oh,  how  the  memory  of  my 
Angela,  daring  thus  for  me  the  scorn  of  a  world 
comes  up  before  me  now !  I  see  her  large  blue 
eyes,  —  so  like  yours,  my  daughter  ;  I  hear  her 
soft,  sweet  accents  of  consoling  hope  ;  I  recall  the 
steady  courage  with  which  she  met  and  defied  all 
threats,  all  danger,  all  disgrace  for  me,  as  did  my 
daughter,  — her  daughter  !  since  worthy  to  be  the 
daughter  of  such  a  mother. 

"  We  were  married  in  the  prison  ;  and  no  charge 
of  crime  committed  under  the  laws  of  the  United 
States  appearing  against  me,  I  was  discharged. 
My  wife's  father  forbade  her  ever  to  enter  his 
house  ;  and  she  never  again  saw  the  face  of  her 
kindred.  But  her  love  made  her  bold,  and  she 
looked  Fate  in  the  face  with  defiance. 

All  hope  of  further  occupation  in  New  York  was 
gone,  and  we  went  to  Baltimore.  In  that  city,  at 
the  end  of  a  year,  a  daughter  was  born  to  us  ; 
and  I  called  her  Angela,  after  her  mother.  One 
saved  me  for  years  from  cursing  man  :  the  other 
has  brought  me  from  dark  despair  to  the  conscious- 
ness of  an  all-directing  God. 

"The  old  charge  of  robbery  followed  me  to  Balti- 


ANTOINE  DE   ULLOA. 


223 


more.  Our  friends  forsook  us  one  by  one,  until  at 
the  close  of  another  year,  we  were  again  compelled 
to  change  our  residence.  Determined,  if  possible, 
to  put  my  pursuers  at  fault  forever,  I  resolved  to 
cross  the  mountains  and  plunge  into  the  forests  of 
the  West.  Vain  hope  !  the  righteous  law  had  not 
yet  done  its  worst.  We  crossed  the  Alleghanies, 
and  tarried  a  few  days  at  Pittsburgh.  Here  again 
I  was  charged  with  being  a  robber  ;  we  were  driven 
from  the  hotel  where  we  were  resting ;  and  — 
climax  of  the  world's  sweet  charity! — an  attempt 
was  made  to  take  our  child  from  us  on  the  ground 
that  we  were  not  fit  persons  to  have  charge  of  it ; 
and  the  law  was  called  upon  to  enforce  this  right- 
eous decision  !  But  we  fled  the  city  ;  taking  pas- 
sage in  the  night  on  a  boat  bound  down  the  Ohio. 
But  the  cup  of  sorrow  was  full :  my  Angela  sunk 
beneath  these  accumulated  troubles.  She  was 
attacked  with  a  violent  nervous  fever  on  the  night 
of  our  departure,  and  a  few  days  afterwards  yielded 
up  her  spirit." 

At  this  point  in  his  narrative  De  Ulloa  became 
very  much  agitated  ;  his  breast  heaved,  his  eyes 
flashed,  and  the  rapid  throbbing  of  his  heart  was 
audible.  Seizing  the  water-pitcher  which  stood 
near,  he  emptied  it  with  rapid  and  almost  spas- 
modic swallows. 


224 


BROUGHT  TO  BAY. 


His  daughter  begged  him  not  to  continue  his 
narrative,  —  at  least  for  the  present. 

"No,"  said  her  father,  "the  present  alone  is 
mine  :  I  have  no  future.  Give  me  more  water, 
my  throat  is  burning  —  my  brain  is  on  fire." 

More  water  was  brought  ;  and  after  a  little  while 
he  partially  regained  composure,  and  continued  in 
low,  heart-broken  tones,  that  went  to  the  hearts  of 
his  auditors  : 

"  I  saw  her  life  go  out.  She  was  my  hope  —  my 
solace  —  my  saint.  An  over-righteous  world,  on 
the  unsupported  evidence  of  inconclusive  circum- 
stances, which  would  not  justify  even  a  suspicion, 
had  branded  me  with  guilt,  and,  disbelieving  in  re- 
pentance and  reformation  upon  any  testimony, 
even  the  most  conclusive,  had  hunted  her  to  the 
grave  for  presuming  to  bless  with  her  love  one  who 
had  fallen  under  the  ban  of  its  laws. 

"  She  knew  the  weight  of  the  burden  that  lay 
on  my  soul ;  she  knew  how  I  had  struggled  against 
my  fate ;  and  she  felt  that  forbearance  would  cease 
when  I  was  left  alone  in  war  against  a  world ;  and 
so  it  did  !  Can  you  chide  me  .'  Even  the  hunted 
deer  will  at  last  stand  at  bay.  I  turned  upon  the 
world." 

After  a  pause,  and  an  effort  at  greater  calmness, 
he  took  Virginia's  hand. 


ANTOINE  DE   ULLOA. 


225 


"  Angela,  my  daughter  Angela,  let  me  feel  the 
gentle  touch  of  your  hand.  Is  it  night  already,  or 
do  my  eyes  grow  dim  ? " 

"  My  father,"  said  Virginia,  "  let  us  come  to- 
morrow.    You  are  weary  now  —  very  weary." 

"  No,"  said  de  Ulloa  ;  "  there  is  no  to-morrow. 
My  tale  is  not  ended  ;  a  little  while  and  I  have 
done. 

"  I  buried  my  wife  at  Limestone,  and  there  I 
left  my  daughter.  You  know  the  rest  of  that ;  the 
kindness  of  her  foster  mother  (may  the  God  of 
love  reward  and  bless  that  woman  I),  her  abduction, 
and  all  her  history  since.  But  my  history  since 
—  mine  !  I  was  myself  no  more.  My  heart  of 
flesh  was  gone  ;  and  all  love  left  me  but  the  yearn- 
ing for  my  daughter.  Through  years  of  warfare 
with  the  world,  that  little  spark  of  love  to  her  who 
was  —  and  is  —  the  image  of  my  Angela  prevented 
me  from  degenerating  from  man  to  demon,  and 
kept  my  hand  from  blood.  When  the  world's  in- 
justice waited  for  my  vengeance,  I  thought  of  her 
and  stayed  my  hand  ;  when  the  agents  of  the  law 
were  in  my  power,  I  thought  of  her,  and  remem- 
bered mercy  ;  and  when  the  earthquake  struck  my 
followers  down,  and  in  the  midst  of  destruction 
singled  out  my  boat  and  me  for  safety,  I  thought 


226  BROUGHT   TO   BAY. 

upon  my  daughter,  and  knew  that  for  her  sake 
God  had  turned  away  his  wrath. 

"  My  day  draws  near  its  close.  The  world  and 
I  are  quits.  When  the  shades  of  eternity  close 
around  me,  I  shall  still  live  in  the  heart  of  my 
child,  —  in  the  hearts  of  my  children  !  The  world 
will  call  me  pirate,  but  you  will  call  me  father  ; 
the  world  will  remember  my  hatred,  but  you  my 
love." 

De  Ulloa  covered  his  face  with  his  hands ;  after 
a  brief  silence,  he  continued : 

"  My  daughter,  I  desire  that  you  will  ever  re- 
vere the  foster-mother  who  loved  you  so  long  and 
so  dearly.  Tell  her  your  father's  story,  and  bear 
her  the  gratitude  of  a  dying  man.  No  weeping, 
my  daughter  !  Keep  your  tears  for  occasions  of 
sorrow  ;  this  should  be  one  of  joy.  Let  the  priest 
be  brought  —  let  the  rite  go  on  here,  where  I 
may  be  present.  Then,  when  the  deadly  feud 
which  procured  my  ruin  has  been  healed  by  your 
union,  will  my  destiny  be  accomplished." 

De  Ulloa  persisted  in  sending  for  Sister  Naomi 
and  the  priest ;  and  the  marriage  of  Francis  Santa 
Clara  and  Angela  de  Ulloa  took  place  in  the 
prison. 

When  they  were  about  to  leave  him,  Ulloa  took 


ANTOINE  DE   ULLOA. 


227 


the  hands  of  his  children  in  his,  and  his  voice  was 
almost  cheerful  as  he  said  : — 

"  Farewell,  my  children !  Your  love  has  con- 
quered destiny.  When  you  come  again  you  will 
not  hear  me  murmur.     Farewell ! 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

FATHER   AND    SON. 

/^N  the  morning  after  the  scene  related  in  the 
^""^  last  chapter,  and  before  the  keeper  of  the 
prison  had  made  his  visit  to  the  cell  of  Ulloa,  he 
was  waited  on  by  an  old  gentleman  requesting  to 
be  permitted  to  see  "the  prisoner,  de  Ulloa." 
The  man  who  made  this  request  might  have  been 
sixty-five  years  of  age.  His  complexion  was  dark 
and  apparently  embrowned  by  residence  in  the 
South ;  and  some  slight  peculiarities  in  his  accent 
betrayed  the  fact  that  English  was  not  his  mother- 
tongue.  There  was  a  sadness  in  his  voice  while 
proffering  his  request  which  made  the  jailer 
observe  him  closely ;  and  it  was  with  some  trace 
of  sympathy,  which  the  stranger's  manner  had 
awakened,  that  he  replied, — 

"  Perhaps  the  man  you  wish  to  see  is  some 
friend  of  yours ;  but  indeed,  sir,  there  is  no  per- 
son of  that  name  in  the  prison." 

The  stranger  paused,  in  evident  disappointment. 
Then,  "pardon  me,  sir,"  he  continued;  "perhaps  I 


FATHER  AND  SON. 


229 


should  have  called  him  Leyba.  Can  I  see  Antoine 
de  Leyba  ?" 

"Immediately,"  responded  the  jailer.  "I  am 
now  going  to  his  cell." 

When  the  key  had  turned  in  the  creaking  lock, 
and  the  heavy  door  swung  open,  the  old  man 
approached  the  rude  bed  on  which  the  prisoner 
lay  sleeping  heavily.  For  some  moments  he  gazed 
in  silence  on  the  stern,  sad  face.  When  he  spoke, 
even  the  jailer's  heart  was  thrilled  by  the  anguish 
of  his  low,  broken  voice. 

"  And  this  is  Antoine  de  Ulloa  !" 

The  prisoner  started  up  at  the  voice,  as  if  for  a 
moment  forgetting  that  his  hands  were  manacled 
and  his  feet  bound  with  chains.  His  dark  eyes 
glittered  beneath  his  shaggy  brows,  and  his  sunken 
cheeks  glowed  with  an  angry  fire.  Turning  to  his 
visitor  he  exclaimed, — 

"  Who  dares  defy  the  world,  and  pronounce  that 
name  in  such  a  tone .''" 

"  Antoine,"  said  the  stranger,  in  a  voice  trem- 
bling with  emotion  ;   "  I  have  good  tidings  for  you !" 

"  Who  are  you  .■*"  asked  the  prisoner. 

"I  come  from  your  father." 

"Then  you  should  smell  of  brimstone,"  replied 
the  prisoner,  with  a  low  maniacal  laugh  ;  while  the 
vacant  and  restless  expression  of  his  eye  indicated 
that  his  mind  wandered. 


230  BROUGHT  TO  BAY. 

"  Do  you  know  that  your  father  still  lives, 
Antoine  ?"  the  stranger  went  on. 

"  No,  he  is  dead,"  said  de  Ulloa.  "  The  man 
may  still  live ;  but  the  father  died  when  the  son 
turned  pirate.  No,  I  am  wrong ;  the  son  turned 
pirate  when  the  father  died.     Do  you  understand .-'" 

The  last  word  was  uttered  in  a  loud,  harsh  tone 
which  startled  the  stranger,  and  caused  him  to 
step  back  a  few  paces.  Seeing  this,  the  prisoner 
in  a  milder  tone  continued, — 

"Look  at  these  manacles,  behold  these  heavy 
chains !  Tell  Don  de  Ulloa  that  the  law  has  done 
its  perfect  work ;  and  assure  him  that  you  your- 
self witnessed  its  tender  mercies.  Should  he 
still  doubt  the  power  of  the  God  he  worships,  tell 
him  it  blasted  the  fair  fame  of  his  son,  and  con- 
sumed his  hopes  to  ashes ;  he  will  sing  its  praises. 
Tell  him  it  left  him  childless,  and  hunted  down 
his  innocent  son  ;  he  will  utter  hallelujahs  to  the 
Law.  Tell  him  it  pursued  me  for  twenty  years 
and  never  once  loosened  its  fangs  ;  he  will  bow 
down  and  glorify  the  Law  !" 

During  this  passionate  address  from  the  pris- 
oner the  stranger  was  deeply  affected ;  and  when 
it  was  ended  asked  in  a  tone  of  sadness, — 

"  Can  you  not  forgive  your  poor  old  broken- 
hearted father  t  My  son,  look  on  me  !" 


FATHER  AND  SON. 


231 


The  prisoner  opened  his  eyes  with  a  wild  stare ; 
and  then,  with  a  sardonic  smile  playing  about  his 
mouth,  said, — 

"  So  it  is  !  Don  Antoine  de  Ulloa,  the  senior ! 
Quite  a  green  old  age  —  outlived  your  son  twenty 
years,  sir !" 

"  Antoine,"  said  the  old  father,  "  for  ten  long  years 
of  repentant  sorrow  I  have  sought  for  you  in  vain. 
Your  innocence  has  been  proven  beyond  a  doubt, 
and  I  have  brought  my  tottering  form  a  thousand 
miles  to  ask  you  to  forgive  me  before  I  die." 

The  son  was  totally  unmoved. 

"Ask  forgiveness  from  God,"  said  he,  "from 
governors,  judges,  and  law-makers, — not  their 
victim.     Does  the  Law  accuse  you  T' 

"  Oh,  my  son,  forgive  me,  —  pity  me  !  "  cried 
the  old  man,  while  hot  tears  ran  down  his  fur- 
rowed cheeks,  and  his  extended  hand  trembled 
with  agitation. 

The  prisoner  looked  curiously  at  the  hand  which 
the  father  offered,  and  muttered  in  an  undertone, 
as  if  talking  to  himself,  — 

"There's  no  blood  upon  it;  and  yet  it  joined 
with  the  relentless  law  to  crush  the  innocent ;  it 
set  the  police  bloodhounds  on  the  stricken  victim  ; 
it  interposed  between  husband  and  wife,  sending 
Angela  to  God,  and  me —  .-• " 


232  BROUGHT  TO  BAY. 

He  paused ;  firmly  closed  his  jaws,  and  he 
looked  into  his  father's  eye  as  if  awaiting  a  reply. 
The  old  man  merely  repeated  his  son's  name  in  a 
supplicating  tone,  and  still  held  out  his  trembling 
hand.  The  prisoner  made  no  movement  to  accept 
it.  His  eyes  became  fixed,  as  if  from  muscular 
spasm  ;  and  he  fell  back  upon  his  straw  pallet  in  a 
state  of  partial  paralysis.  His  limbs,  his  body,  and 
even  his  tongue,  had  become  motionless.  A  cer- 
tain periodic  heaving  of  the  chest  in  respiration 
was  all  that  indicated  remaining  life.  After  lying 
in  this  condition  a  few  minutes  a  sudden  throe  of 
agony  seized  him,  changing  the  expression  of  his 
eyes,  and  leaving  him  conscious,  and  evidently  able 
to  see  and  hear,  but  without  the  power  of  speech 
or  voluntary  motion.  The  old  man  sent  the  jailer 
for  a  physician,  while  he  himself  sat  down  by  his 
son's  bedside.  He  called  him  by  the  tender  names 
of  childhood,  he  chafed  the  now  unresisting  hands 
and  the  palsied  limbs.  It  was  all  in  yain.  The 
heart  still  beat,  and  the  chest  heaved  with  a  re- 
ciprocating motion ;  but  there  was  no  voluntary 
movement. 

The  physician  came,  looked  at  the  sufferer  a 
moment  ;  and  pronouncing  the  case  beyond  his 
power,  retired.  It  was  still  manifest,  however, 
from  the  expression  of  the  motionless  eyes,  that 


FATHER  AND  SON. 


233 


consciousness  remained.  The  poor  old  father, 
holding  his  son's  hand,  and  looking  into  his  staring 
eyes,  his  own  dim  with  tears,  told  him  how  he  too 
had  suffered,  — 

"  You  lost  a  father,"  said  he ;  "I  lost  a  son  : 
what  could  either  have  suffered  more  ?  " 

The  fixed  eyeballs  glared  on  in  the  silence. 

"  You  were  cut  down  in  the  hour  of  promise  :  I 
in  the  day  of  proudest  success." 

The  glassy  eyes  wept  not  in  sympathy. 

"  You  were  supported  by  the  consciousness  of 
innocence ;  while  I  was  crushed  by  my  insane 
belief  in  your  guilt.  Ah,  how  bitterly  have  I 
expiated  that  cruel  wrong !  And  now  that  my 
gray  hairs  are  ready  to  go  down  to  the  grave  in 
sorrow,  I  have  sought  you  out,  to  ask  forgiveness 
before  I  die." 

Still  the  spirit  lingering  on  the  confines  of  earth 
looked  out  through  the  rigid  eyeballs, — looked, 
but  answered  not. 

The  jailer  now  approached,  and  in  a  kindly 
voice  asked  the  old  gentleman  if  it  would  not  be 
well  to  send  for  the  prisoner's  daughter. 

"  His  daughter ! "  exclaimed  the  old  man  in 
astonishment.     "  Has  he  a  daughter } " 

Before  the  man  could  answer,  a  throe  of  mortal 
agony  convulsed  the   sufferer's   frame.     When  it 


234 


BROUGHT   TO  BAY. 


passed  he  extended  his  hand  to  his  father,  and 
murmuring  ^^ My  daiigJiter — my  son!"  expired. 

Take  off  the  manacles,  break  the  chains  from 
the  stiffening  limbs,  unbar  the  door  !  The  Shadow 
of  a  Crime  has  lifted,  and  the  Law's  victim  has 
escaped. 

The  jailer  in  a  few  brief  words  explained  to  Don 
de  Ulloa  the  little  he  knew  concerning  the  daughter 
of  the  dead  prisoner,  and  told  him  of  the  wedding 
in  the  prison  on  the  day  before ;  and  the  bereaved 
father  went  in  search  of  Sinclair  and  Virginia. 

It  were  vain  to  describe  the  feelings  of  the  heart- 
stricken  old  man  as  he  passed  from  those  gloomy 
walls.  He  had  been  a  proud  and  haughty  man ; 
proud  of  his  family,  proud  of  his  rank,  proudest  of 
all  of  his  son  —  the  sole  hope  of  his  house,  who  he 
confidently  expected  would  some  day  shed  new 
lustre  upon  the  ancient  name  he  bore.  When  that 
son  was  convicted  of  the  infamous  crime  of  rob- 
bing the  dead  —  the  dead  his  own  hands  had  slain 
—  all  his  high  hopes  were  crushed  forever.  His 
pride  hardened  the  father's  heart,  darkened  his 
better  judgment,  and  poisoned  his  life  with  the 
bitter  belief  in  his  son's  guilt.  And  when  he 
heard  that  his  son  had  joined  a  band  of  pirates,  he 
not  only  believed  the  charge,  but  strove  to  tear 
from  his  heart  all  memory  of  a  son  so  base.     Some 


FATHER  AND  SON.  235 

years  after  the  event  which  brought  sorrow  upon 
both  father  and  son,  a  priest  called  upon  him,  and 
related  the  confession  of  a  man  who  had  suffered 
the  death  penalty.  This  man  had  confessed  that 
it  was  he  who  had  rifled  the  pockets  of  Santa 
Clara,  thereby  wholly  exonerating  young  de  Ulloa 
from  the  charge.  The  man  had  said  that  he  had 
been  sent  to  the  chain-gang  for  another  offence, 
and  was  among  the  number  who  escaped  on  the 
pirate  ship.  When  asked  by  his  priest  whether 
de  Ulloa  had  joined  the  pirates  in  any  act  of 
piracy  while  on  board,  he  had  solemnly  declared 
that  he  had  not.  The  father's  repentance  was 
■bitter  but  unavailing,  for  he  could  find  no  trace  of 
his  son.  As  the  only  atonement  which  he  could 
offer,  he  immediately  obtained  his  son's  pardon  for 
the  offence  of  which  he  had  been  convicted,  and  a 
royal  decree  declaring  his  innocence,  and  restoring 
him  to  his  civil  privileges.  He  then  commenced 
a  systematic  search  for  the  lost  son  ;  but  all  his 
efforts  enabled  him  to  trace  the  fugitive  only  to 
Baltimore.  Finally,  after  years  of  almost  hopeless 
efforts,  he  by  chance  saw  a  notice  of  the  arrest  in 
St.  Louis  of  a  man  called  Leyba,  on  the  charge  of 
piracy.  The  description  of  the  man,  and  the  fact 
that  his  son  had  taken  that  name  on  reaching 
New  Orleans,  induced   him  to  make  the  voyage 


236  BROUGHT  TO  BAY. 

from  Havana  to  St.  Louis  in  search  of  him.  The 
reader  is  acquainted  with  the  result. 

When  Don  de  Ulloa  reached  the  house  where 
Sister  Naomi  Hved,  he  asked  for  Sinclair  and  Vir- 
ginia, made  himself  known  to  his  grandchildren, 
and  told  them  that  for  their  sake  his  son  had 
forgiven  him,  and  besought  them  to  take  him  into 
their  affection. 

A  carriage  was  called  ;  and  the  old  man,  accom- 
panied by  Sinclair  and  Virginia,  returned  to  the 
prison,  and  followed  the  remains  of  Antoine  de 
Ulloa  to  their  final  resting-place. 

Charity  hopeth  all  things ;  let  it  be  accorded  to 
the  law's  victim. 


CHAPTER   XVII. 

A   RIVER  VOYAGE. 

A  FEW  days  after  the  death  of  Antoine  de 
Ulloa  the  younger,  Sinclair,  with  Virginia 
and  her  grandfather,  prepared  to  return  to  Shaw- 
neetown.  Tim  Rose  had  met  with  Captain  Sum- 
mers at  the  landing,  where  he  had  just  arrived  with 
a  boat-load  of  government  stores  which  he  had 
brought  from  Cincinnati ;  and  as  his  boat  was 
about  to  return  up  the  Ohio  with  a  light  freight,  it 
furnished  a  favorable  opportunity  of  conveyance. 

Virginia  bade  farewell  to  the  good  Sister  Naomi, 
who  parted  from  her  pupil  with  deep  and  genuine 
sorrow,  and  left  forever  the  place  where  she  had 
met  her  life's  greatest  sorrow  and  greatest  joy. 
Tom  Summers  was  much  gratified  to  welcome  his 
passengers  on  board  the  gallant  Tippecanoe,  which, 
although  a  little  the  worse  for  wear,  was  yet  tough 
and  strong,  and  had  just  been  repaired  and  newly 
painted  from  stem  to  stern. 

On  going  on  board  the  boat,  Virginia  was  struck 
with  something  in   its  appearance  which  seemed 


238  BROUGHT  TO  BAY. 

familiar ;  and  after  she  had  satisfied  herself  that 
she  was  not  mistaken,  she  turned  to  Captain  Sum- 
mers, saying  : 

"Do  you  know,  Captain  Summers,  that  this 
same  pretty  craft  of  yours  is  an  old  acquaintance 
of  mine  ? " 

Tom  took  the  rudder  between  his  knees,  bowed 
deferentially  to  his  fair  questioner  and  replied  :  — 

"  Maybe  it  may  be,  ma'am  ;  but  I  am  sure  I 
can't  tell  where  or  when."  After  a  moment's  re- 
flection, he  added,  "  yes,  yes  !  She  was  called  the 
Louisiana  then." 

"But  I  saw  her  before,"  said  Virginia.  "  It  was 
not  until  after  the  earthquake  that  the  name  was 
painted  over  and  the  new  one  put  on." 

"  Ah,  the  airthquake,"  said  Tom.  "  And  was 
you  on  board  through  all  that  dreadful  airth- 
quake .'*" 

"  Indeed  I  was,"  said  Virginia.  "  It  makes  me 
tremble  yet,  even  to  remember  it." 

The  pleasant  morning  air  had  brought  Don  de 
Ulloa  on  deck.  He  had  heard  Virginia's  remark, 
and  now  pressed  her  for  a  description  of  the  earth- 
quake and  its  accompanying  scenes  ;  and  while  the 
Tippecanoe  made  rapid  progress  down  the  Missis- 
sippi, Virginia  gratified  her  grandfather  with  the 
recital.     The  old  man  had  already  taken  her  to  his 


A   RIVER    VOYAGE. 


239 


heart  of  hearts ;  and  now  hung  upon  he*-  words  as 
if  hstening  to  the  voice  of  a  superior  being. 

The  recital  of  the  scenes  which  accompanied  the 
earthquake,  and  the  history  of  Virginia's  journey 
from  Cave-in-Rock  to  New  Orleans,  naturally  in- 
troduced the  subject  of  her  residence  at  Shawnee- 
town,  and  all  the  strange  events  of  her  life.  She 
talked  on  for  so  long  a  time  that  Sinclair  expressed 
his  fear  that  she  would  suffer  from  the  effort. 

"  Oh,  no,"  said  she,  "  if  it  interests  my  grand- 
father I  could  talk  for  hours." 

"My  daughter,"  said  the  old  man,  "you  cannot 
imagine  what  a  melancholy  pleasure  your  history 
gives  me ;  and  if  you  are  not  already  weary,  I  hope 
you  will  go  on.  I  wish  to  know  the  history  of  your 
father,  —  of  your  foster-mother,  —  who,  you  say, 
loved  you  so  well ;  and  the  thousand  things  which 
you  know  would  interest  me  so  much." 

Virginia  related  all  the  more  important  events 
in  her  history,  not  omitting  her  voyage  up  the 
Mississippi  in  company  with  Sinclair  ;  and  includ- 
ing so  much  of  her  husband's  history  as  was  neces- 
sary to  a  knowledge  of  his  parentage. 

"  And  can  it  be  possible,"  said  the  old  man, 
"  that  you  are  the  son  of  that  Santa  Clara  whose 
history  is  so  closely  interwoven  with  that  of  Vir- 
ginia's father  ? " 


240 


BROUGHT  TO  BAY. 


"It  is  indeed  true,"  replied  Sinclair.  "A 
strange  providence  has  united  the  offspring  of 
those  men  who  engaged  in  mortal  combat.  May 
the  union  heal  all  wounds  the  old  feud  has 
made  ! " 

"  Amen  ! "  responded  the  old  man  ;  but  silence 
and  sadness  fell  on  the  little  circle.  And  all  fur- 
ther allusion  to  the  events  of  that  fatal  day  was 
avoided. 

The  Tippecanoe  made  rapid  progress  on  her 
voyage,  and  before  sunset,  came  in  sight  of  the  old 
town  of  St.  Genevieve. 

"  My  dear  Virginia,"  said  Sinclair,  looking  over 
the  bow  of  the  boat  toward  the  town,  "  do  you 
know  anything  of  that  little  town  on  the  shore, 
with  rude  limestone  edifices  rising  in  the  dis- 
tance } " 

"  Indeed  I  do,"  replied  Virginia.  "  I  shall  not 
soon  forget  St.  Genevieve  !  And  do  you  know 
that  I  was  in  that  ancient  village  when  (as  I  have 
since  learned)  you  made  your  fruitless  visit  there 
in  search  of  me }  Nay,  I  was  in  the  very  house 
when  the  Sister  told  you  she  knew  nothing  of  me  ! 
You  will  be  surprised,  but  I  assure  you  it  is  so." 

"Why,"  said  Sinclair,  "is  it  possible  the  holy 
woman  would  tell  a  deliberate  falsehood  } " 

"  You  asked  for  the  daughter  of  Mrs.  Freeman," 


A   RIVER    VOYAGE. 


241 


said  Virginia,  "  she  told  you  she  knew  nothing  of 
her." 

"  Still,  it  was  a  base  and  cruel  equivocation. 
And  besides,  she  told  me  Sister  Naomi  was  not 
there." 

"That  was  indeed  true,"  replied  Virginia,  "she 
had  gone  to  St.  Louis  a  few  days  before.  On  her 
return  Sister  Mary  told  her  a  gentleman  had  been 
to  inquire  for  me  ;  and  I  learned  about  it  from  her. 
You  may  be  sure  I  charged  her  with  the  falsehood. 
She  replied  that  the  end  justified  the  means,  —  a 
most  abominable  doctrine,  which  Sister  Naomi 
tried  in  vain  to  teach  me  afterwards." 

"  But  even  if  the  doctrine  were  true,"  said  Sin- 
clair, "  what  important  end  was  to  be  gained  } " 

"  Nothing  less  than  the  salvation  of  my  soul," 
replied  Virginia.  "  The  Sister  declared  that  my 
only  hope  was  in  being  kept  out  of  your  sight  until  I 
forgot  you.  '  And  how  long,  think  you,  will  that 
be  .^ '  inquired  I.  '  Oh,  I  fear  it  will  be  a  good 
while,'  said  she.  This  awakened  my  resentment, 
and  I  told  her  she  was  right,  it  would  take  long 
enough  for  me  to  become  as  old  and  as  ugly  as'  she 
was." 

"And  what  did  she  say  to  that .-'"  inquired  Sin- 
clair. 

"  She  said  not  a  word,"  replied  Virginia,  "  she 


242 


BROUGHT  TO  BAY. 


only  looked  at  me  with  a  large,  round  tear  stand- 
ing in  each  eye.  This  was  too  much  ;  it  was  my 
turn  to  shed  tears  then.  I  begged  her  pardon 
instantly." 

"And  are  you  not  a  Catholic,  my  daughter.!*" 
asked  her  grandfather,  who  had  been  silently  lis- 
tening for  some  time  to  the  conversation. 

Virginia  was  perplexed  how  to  answer.  She 
saw  that  he  was  troubled  about  the  matter,  and 
feared  her  reply  would  cause  him  deeper  anxiety. 
"  We  Americans,"  she  said  smiling,  "  are  too  demo- 
cratic to  make  very  good  Catholics."  And  to  her 
relief,  the  old  man  pursued  the  matter  no  further. 

The  sun  was  setting.  It  was  one  of  those 
gorgeous  cloud-scenes  which  occur  nowhere  in 
the  world  with  more  magnificence  than  in  the 
Mississippi  Valley.  The  far-off  ether  glowed  like 
a  sea  of  molten  gold,  where  light  clouds,  their 
glowing  tints  mellowed  by  distance,  floated  fair 
and  far  as  Islands  of  the  Blest,  Farther  east  the 
undulating  vapors,  playing  in  the  purple  light, 
gradually  faded  into  the  soft  neutral  tints  of 
mingled  day  and  night.  All  nature  was  radiant 
with  the  pervading  light.  The  dark  forests  upon 
the  banks  deepened  to  intensity  of  green  as  they 
threw  back  the  glancing  rays  from  their  thick 
foliage.     The  very  river  —  muddy  and  ever  seeth- 


A   RIVER    VOYAGE. 


243 


ing  in  restless  eddies  —  grew  beautiful  under  the 
magic  of  the  sunset. 

Virginia  called  the  attention  of  her  grandfather 
to  the  scene. 

"  You  tell  me  Cuba  is  a  lovely  land,"  said  she, 
"  and  for  your  sake  I  will  try  to  think  it  so ;  but 
can  you  rival  there  this  glorious  sunset }  Forgive 
me,  my  dear  grandfather.  We  are  going  with  you 
to  Cuba,  but  the  memory  of  my  native  land  will 
still  linger  with  me,  —  the  freest,  the  fairest,  the 
greatest,  on  which  the  sun  shines  !  " 

"I  commend  your  patriotism,"  replied  de  Ulloa. 
"  We  all  love  our  native  land.  But  this  country  is 
only  a  vast  wilderness.  Look  at  this  muddy  river ! 
It  flows  a  thousand  miles  before  it  reaches  a  civil- 
ized people.  The  land  must  remain  a  wilderness 
forever ! " 

Captain  Tom  Summers  was  standing  near 
enough  to  hear  this  observation.  He  considered 
himself  justly  entitled  to  take  part  in  any  dis- 
cussion on  the  subject  of  rivers  ;  and  he  therefore 
turned  to  Don  de  Ulloa  with  the  inquiry,  — 

"  May  I  make  bold  to  ask,  sir,  whether  you  ever 
saw  a  steamboat } " 

De  Ulloa  was  somewhat  surprised  at  this  abrupt 
question,  but  he  replied,  — 

"  I  have  not.     May  I  ask  you  why  ? " 


244  BROUGHT  TO  BAY. 

"  Keep  your  eye  on  yonder  black  smoke  which 
you  may  see  away  in  the  bend  of  the  river.  That's 
a  steamboat.  Watch  her  close  as  she  runs  past 
us." 

"  As  we  run  past  /ler,  perhaps  you  mean," 
responded  de  Ulloa.  "  She  appears  to  be  coming 
against  the  current." 

"  No  matter,"  replied  Tom.  "  Current  or  no 
current  doesn't  make  any  odds  with  her.  Watch 
her!" 

De  Ulloa,  Sinclair,  and  Virginia,  together  with 
the  boat's  crew,  now  clustered  on  the  bow  of  the 
Tippecanoe  to  observe  the  approaching  steamer, 
A  few  minutes  brought  her  alongside.  On  she 
came,  smoking  and  puffing,  dashing  the  foam  from 
her  round  and  swelling  bow,  much  like  that  of  a 
sea-going  vessel,  —  their  builders  have  grown  wiser 
since, —  and  ploughing  through  the  resisting  current 
with  a  speed  which  soon  carried  her  out  of  sight 
around  a  bend  in  the  river.  During  the  few 
minutes  while  the  two  boats  were  passing  each 
other,  no  word  was  uttered  by  the  party  on  the 
Tippecanoe  save  an  occasional  exclamation  of 
surprise  or  admiration.  When  the  steamer  had 
fairly  disappeared,  Summers  turned  to  Don  de 
Ulloa,  and  remarked  that  he  had  now  seen  a 
steamboat,  at  the  same  time  regarding  him  with 


A   RIVER    VOYAGE. 


245 


an  interrogating  look,  as  if  he  would  say,  "  Now 
what  do  you  think  of  the  future  prospects  of  this 
'wilderness?'  " 

"Wonderful !  "  exclaimed  the  Don,  "wonderful ! 
the  problem  is  solved  :  the  steaniboat  will  settle 
and  civilize  the  world." 

"Them's  itiy  sentiments,"  said  one  of  the  boat's 
crew ;  and  the  familiar  phrase  will  introduce  an 
old  acquaintance  to  the  reader. 

"That's  jest  the  machine  that'll  do  it,"  said  Tom 
Summers,  whose  sentiments  in  regard  to  the  im- 
portance of  the  "smoke-boat,"  as  the  reader  will 
perceive,  had  undergone  a  marked  change  since 
his  first  trip  to  New  Orleans  on  board  of  one. 

"I  am  not  superstitious,"  continued  Tom,  "nor 
anyway  over-religious  ;  but  I  jest  think  that  Prov- 
idence sent  the  steamboat  for  the  express  purpose 
of  settling  up  this  wilderness.  Mayhap,  you  don't 
know  how  long  this  river  really  is  .-^  " 

"I  am  told,"  replied  de  Ulloa,  "that  it  rises 
more  than  a  thousand  miles  above  St.  Louis." 

"Oh,  yes,"  repHed  Tom;  "but  that  isn't  the 
Mississippi,  although  it  is  called  so.  The  Missouri 
is  the  real  Mississippi ;  and  that  rises  three  or  four 
thousand  miles  off,  up  in  the  Rocky  Mountains." 

"  But  why  do  you  say  that  is  the  true  Missis- 
sippi .'' "  inquired  Ulloa, 


246  BROUGHT  TO  BAY. 

"Well,  sir,"  was  the  reply,  "I've  seen  enough  of 
rivers  to  know  that  rivers  is  individuals,  same  as 
men.  You  would  no  more  make  a  boatman  who 
was  acquainted  with  the  Mississippi  down  below 
St.  Louis  believe  that  the  Missouri  was  not  the 
same  river  than  you  could  make  him  believe  he 
was  not  the  same  boatman  in  either  place.  You 
came  up  the  Mississippi  from  Orleans,  sir ;  and 
you  saw  it  take  in  Red  River,  which  comes  a  thou- 
sand miles  to  meet  it,  and  the  Arkansas,  which 
comes  another  thousand,  and  the  Ohio,  which 
comes  another  thousand,  and  half-a-dozen  more 
rivers ;  and  you  found  it  still  the  same  rolling, 
rapid,  muddy,  boiling  Mississippi.  It  didn't  turn 
red  from  the  waters  of  Red  River,  nor  become  a 
bit  clearer  after  it  had  drank  the  Ohio,  which  is 
clear  as  crystal  and  almost  as  big  as  itself ;  and  it 
takes  in  the  upper  river  just  above  St.  Louis,  and 
is  not  a  bit  changed.  No,  sir,  I  tell  you,  rivers  is 
individuals,  and  has  characters  of  their  own.  You 
may  go  where  the  two  rivers  jine,  above  St.  Louis, 
and  you  will  see  one  of  them  running  way  off 
northwest  to  the  Rocky  Mountains  ;  and  it  is  the 
same  muddy,  whirling  river  that  the  Mississippi  is 
here,  and  the  true  Mississippi  —  only  they  got  the 
name  wrong.  But  the  other  river,  running  way 
off  North  beyond  the  Great  Lakes,  is  clear  as  crys- 


A   RIVER    IVVAGE. 


247 


tal.  You  can't  make  no  boatman  believe  that's 
the  same  river  as  this." 

By  the  time  that  Summers  had  finished  his  de- 
monstration of  the  individual  characters  of  rivers 
it  was  quite  dark.  Don  de  Ulloa,  therefore,  ex- 
pressing himself  pleased  with  Summers'  ideas,  re- 
tired below  with  his  companions  for  the  night. 

Some  time  afterward,  when  the  little  party  were 
comfortably  seated  in  the  forepart  of  the  boat, 
which  Summers  had  caused  to  be  prepared  specially 
for  their  accommodation,  Don  de  Ulloa  turned  to 
Sinclair  and  remarked  : 

"  That  boatman.  Summers,  appears  to  be  a  man 
of  more  than  ordinary  intelligence.  Why  does  he 
not  seek  a  higher  position  .-'  " 

"If  you  were  to  ask  him  that  question,"  re- 
sponded Sinclair,  "you  would  astonish  him.  He 
would  think  something  like  this,  if  he  did  not  re- 
ply :  '  Why,  sir,  I  am  captain  and  owner  of  the 
Tippecanoe,  as  pretty  a  craft  as  follows  any  cordell ; 
I  know  the  river  from  St.  Louis  and  Cincinnati  to 
New  Orleans  in  the  dark  ;  I  have  been  trusted 
with  the  most  valuable  freight  for  a  voyage  of  two 
thousand  miles  without  bond  or  witness  :  I  owe  no 
man  anything,  and  want  for  nothing  ;  I  vote  for 
President,  and  General  Jackson,  who  whipped  the 
British  at  New  Orleans,  can  do  no  more.     In  short, 


248  BROUGHT  TO  BAY. 

sir,  I  am  a  free  and  independent  American  citi- 
zen ! '  That  would  be  about  the  substance  of  his 
reply  ;  and  he  would  then  wonder  where  could  be 
found  a  higher  position." 

"Still,"  responded  de  Ulloa,  "a  man  of  his  parts 
should  be  something  more  than  a  boatman." 

"  Not  at  all,  sir.  This  very  intelligence  makes 
him  the  prouder  of  his  position.  In  this  country 
all  men  are  equals  under  the  law ;  and  industry, 
honesty  and  intelligence  are  the  basis  of  social 
gradation." 

"  The  true  measure  of  a  man  in  this  country," 
interrupted  Virginia,  "  is  not  so  much  what  he  is 
as  what  he  can  do.  My  mother,  at  Shawneetown, 
stands  at  the  head  of  the  list  among  the  women  of 
that  goodly  village,  because,  though  she  was  only 
a  backwoodsman's  daughter,  she  could  weave  more 
linsey  in  a  day,  and  do  it  better,  than  any  other 
woman." 

"  There  was  another  reason,"  said  Sinclair, 
"  why  she  headed  the  list ;  she  was  believed  to  be 
the  mother  of  one  'Ginia  Rose,  the  fairest  of  the 
village  maidens."  But  his  words  did  not  have  the 
effect  Sinclair  intended. 

The  mother  she  had  never  known,  on  whose  name 
her  father  had  loved  to  linger,  was  to  Virginia  a 
sad,  sweet  memory,  something  sacred  and  apart ; 


A   RIVER    VOYAGE. 


249 


but  she  loved  Mrs.  Freeman  with  the  love  a  child 
feels  for  the  one  whose  arms  have  cradled  it,  whose 
voice  has  soothed  it,  whose  care  and  tenderness  it 
has  never  sought  in  vain,  and  she  was  saddened  by 
the  thought  that  in  a  few  days  her  kind  foster- 
mother  would  learn  the  true  parentage  of  her  whom 
she  had  so  long  loved  and  mourned,  and  that  it 
would  be  but  a  little  while  before  her  departure 
with  her  grandfather  to  Havana  would  separate 
them  forever.  Sinclair  saw  that  he  had  awakened 
some  deep  emotion,  and  said  no  more. 

Nothing  of  interest  occurred  the  next  day.  The 
Tippecanoe  was  making  good  progress,  and  Cap- 
tain Summers  told  his  passengers  that  by  daylight 
next  morning  they  would  be  at  the  mouth  of  the 
Ohio.  When  the  party  went  on  deck  next  morn- 
ing, soon  after  daylight,  they  found  the  boat  tied 
up  to  the  shore,  and  saw  that  the  water  was  nearly 
transparent. 

"  Ah,"  said  Don  de  Ulloa  to  Captain  Summers, 
"have  we  left  the  Mississippi.'*  I  was  anxious  to 
observe  the  confluence  of  the  two  rivers." 

"  Thar' s  the  Mississippi,"  replied  Tom.  "  My 
rudder  is  still  in  the  muddy  old  stream.  You  see, 
sir,  we  reached  the  mouth  three  hours  ago  ;  but  I 
wanted  you  to  see  how  the  two  rivers  looked  side 
by  side.     So  we  just  tied  up,  and  waited." 


250  BROUGHT  TO  BAY. 

"You  are  very  kind,  Captain  Summers,"  replied 
Don  de  Ulloa. 

The  party  walked  to  the  stern  of  the  boat  to 
obtain  a  better  view.  The  Mississippi  came  whirl- 
ing down  upon  the  right  hand,  and  the  Ohio 
swept  gracefully  down  on  the  left.  They  met,  but 
they  did  not  mingle.  A  distinct  line  of  separation 
was  visible  as  far  as  the  eye  could  distinguish. 
Had  the  two  bodies  of  water  been  ice  instead, 
th-ey  could  not  have  been  more  distinct ;  and 
owing  to  the  transparent  waters  of  the  Ohio,  the 
muddy  Mississippi  could  be  seen  several  feet 
beneath  the  surface,  —  standing  up  like  a  wall 
against  its  clearer  affluent. 

"  This  is  a  most  surprising  state  of  things, 
Captain  Summers,"  said  Don  de  Ulloa,  after  he 
had  carefully  observed  the  curious  spectacle. 
"  How  far  down  the  stream  does  it  continue  .■'" 

"Well,  generally  some  three  or  four  miles," 
replied  Tom,  *  'fore  they  get  well  mixed  up." 

"  According  to  your  doctrine.  Captain  Summers, 
that  rivers  are  individuals,  this  may  be  called  a 
wedding  of  the  waters,"  said  Ulloa  pleasantly. 

"Yes,  that's  true  enough,"  said  Summers 
thoughtfully.  "  When  a  woman  marries  she  must 
either  stand  on  the  defensive, —  as  the  Ohio  does 
here  for  a  little  way, —  or   be   swallowed   up   by 


A   RIVER    VOYAGE.  25 1 

yielding,  and  so  lose  her  separate  character,  and 
be  no  longer  an  individual.  That's  just  what  this 
same  pretty  river  does  ;  it's  all  the  Mississippi  a 
few  miles  further  down." 

Tim  Rose  had  not  been  well  during  the  voyage ; 
but  feeling  better  he  had  just  ventured  on  deck, 
and  heard  Tom  Summers  moralizing  on  the  meet- 
ing of  the  rivers. 

"  I  think,  Tom,"  said  he,  "  you  must  have  waked 
up  in  a  new  place  since  we  started.  I  never  heard 
you  preach  afore." 

"That's  no  preachin',"  replied  Tom  ;  "it's  noth- 
in'  but  common  sense :  there's  some  difference 
between  that  an'  preachin'." 

"  Where  did  you  learn  it,  Tom  }  asked  Tim, 
apparently  braced  up  by  the  cool  morning  air,  and 
disposed  to  quiz. 

"I  didn't  learn  it  at  all,"  replied  Tom.  "  It  is  a 
fact  as  any  man  may  see  for  himself,  that's  got 
half  an  eye.  I  never  seed  married  folks  get  along 
smooth  and  happy  where  the  woman  held  out 
tryin'  to  be  an  individual.  It  takes  the  husband 
and  wife  both  to  make  one  complete  individual. 
A  man  without  a  wife  is  only  half  a  man,  and  a 
woman  without  a  husband,  what  does  she  amount 
to?" 

"That   last    remark    relieves  me  very   much," 


252  BROUGHT  TO  BAY. 

observed  Virginia  pleasantly ;  "  for  even  if  my 
husband  swallow  me  up,  I  shall  at  least  be  a 
woman  with  a  husband." 

"Cast  off,  boys!"  exclaimed  Captain  Summers 
to  his  men. 

"The  wind  is  rising  and  blows  dead  up  the 
stream.  It's  a  hundred  and  twenty  miles  to 
Shawneetown, — a  good  five  days'  run.  Good  by, 
Mississippi !  We  are  off." 

The  Tippecanoe  carried  a  broad  square  sail,  like 
a  regular  barge ;  and  with  the  favorable  wind 
which  was  blowing,  made  rapid  way  up  the  Ohio. 
The  river  was  at  a  good  stage  for  boating  ;  and  as 
the  Tippecanoe  had  but  a  light  load,  and  the  wind 
continued  favorable,  any  resort  to  the  cordell  was 
unnecessary.  And  at  the  close  of  the  third  day, 
after  reaching  the  mouth,  the  boat  had  reached 
the  vicinity  of  Cave-in-Rock,  without  accident  or 
any  incident  of  importance  occurring  by  the  way. 

When  Captain  Summers  remarked  in  the  pres- 
ence of  his  passengers  that  they  would  reach  the 
cave  a  little  after  dark,  and  lie  by  till  morning, 
because  of  a  fog  which  was  rising,  Virginia  ex- 
presses herself  as  much  gratified  at  the  announce- 
ment. She  told  Sinclair  and  her  grandfather  that 
she  was  exceedingly  anxious  to  visit  the  cave,  in 
the  hope  of  finding  there  a  manuscript  which  her 


A   RIVER    VOYAGE. 


253 


father  had  given  into  her  care  on  the  night  of 
their  departure  for  New  Orleans,  and  which  she 
had  laid  away  in  a  cleft  of  the  rock  and  forgotten. 
She  was  aware  that  the  earthquake  had  thrown 
down  the  walls  of  the  inner  cavern,  and  closed  up 
the  entrances  with  broken  fragments  of  rocks 
still  she  hoped  that  the  spot  she  wished  to  reach, 
which  was  at  the  very  opening  of  one  of  the  aven- 
ues, might  still  be  accessible. 

The  Tippecanoe  soon  reached  the  cave,  and  was 
made  fast  to  await  the  returning  daylight.  Next 
morning  early,  every  one  went  on  shore  for  the 
purpose  of  examining  the  Cave,  —  the  boat's  crew 
from  the  popular  interest  which  was  then  gen- 
erally felt  in  the  cavern,  and  Summers  and  his 
passengers,  from  its  connection  with  memorable 
events  in  their  past  history.  When  the  visitors 
had  reached  the  interior  of  the  outer  cavern,  one 
of  the  boat's  crew  appealed  to  Tom  to  know  if 
that  was  all  there  was  to  be  seen. 

"  No,"  replied  Tom,  "  there's  the  hatchway  over- 
head you  see,"  at  the  same  time  pointing  to  the 
circular  opening  overhead,  which  led  to  the  inner 
apartments  of  the  cave. 

"  Where  is  the  basket } "  asked  Virginia,  as  if 
familiar  with  the  place.  The  boatmen  seemed 
somewhat  surprised  at  Virginia's  apparent  famil- 


254  BROUGHT  TO  BAY. 

iarity  with  the  noted  robbers'  den,  and  especially 
with  the  method  of  reaching  the  upper  rooms. 

"  Oh,  that  disappeared  long  ago,"  replied  Tom. 
"There's  no  way  of  getting  up  there  now." 

"  But  I  must  go  up  there.  Captain  Summers," 
replied  Virginia. 

"  My  daughter,  it  is  impossible,"  interposed  her 
grandfather. 

"  Oh,  no,  grandfather,"  replied  she,  laughing. 
"You  may  have  impossibilities  in  Cuba,  but 
there  are  none  in  this  country."  Then  turning  to 
Sinclair,  she  added,  "  You  must  help  me  to  get  up 
there,  some  way." 

Sinclair  began  to  feel  some  uneasiness.  He  saw 
no  means  for  her  to  reach  the  upper  cavern  safely, 
and  yet  he  knew  she  would  not  easily  be  turned 
from  her  determination. 

"  I  am  sure  I  know  not  how  you  are  to  get 
there,"  he  remonstrated,  "Besides,  the  whole  in- 
terior of  the  cavern  has  been  demolished  by  the 
earthquake ;  and  even  if  possible,  the  attempt 
would  be  dangerous," 

But  Tom  Summers  devised  a  means  by  which 
the  difficulty  could  be  overcome  and  the  ascent 
accomplished.  He  sent  one  of  his  men  on  board 
for  a  rope  and  pulley,  A  spar  was  then  cut  from 
the  woods  near  by,  and  one  of  its  ends  thrust  up 


A   RIVER    VOYAGE. 


255 


into  the  cave  above,  the  rope  and  tackle  having 
first  been  made  fast  to  this  end.  One  of  the  men 
now  ascended  by  the  rope  to  the  upper  cavern,  and 
an  empty  bunk  was  attached  to  the  rope  below,  in 
which  Sinclair  and  Virginia  seated  themselves  and 
prepared  to  ascend,  the  boatmen,  with  a  cheery, 
"yo,  heave  oh  !  "  pulling  away  at  the  rope.  Don 
de  Ulloa  beheld  them  ascending  in  their  rude  car 
with  mingled  feelings  of  uneasiness  and  amuse- 
ment, the  latter  prevailing  as  they  stepped  safely 
into  the  upper  apartment. 

Virginia  took  a  light  from  the  boatman  and  at- 
tempted to  direct  Sinclair  in  exploring  the  cave. 
But  so  completely  had  it  been  altered  by  the 
agency  of  the  earthquake  that  she  was  with  much 
difficulty  enabled  to  recognize  the  ruined  remains 
of  former  avenues.  A  feeling  of  sadness  came 
over  her  as  she  thought  of  the  fate  which  had 
overtaken  its  former  inmates,  almost  deterring  her 
from  making  any  further  attempt  to  recover  her 
father's  manuscripts. 

Suddenly  she  recognized  the  place  where  she 
had  laid  the  long-lost  papers,  but  a  heavy  mass  of 
rock  had  fallen  down  upon  the  spot.  She  had 
little  doubt  that  could  the  broken  rock  be  removed, 
the  manuscripts  would  be  found.  At  the  request 
of  Sinclair,  therefore,  several  of  the  boatmen  pro- 


256  BROUGHT  TO  BAY. 

vided  themselves  with  handspikes,  and  ascended  to 
the  upper  cavern  to  attempt  the  removal.  They 
succeeded  in  raising  the  heavy  fragment  upon  its 
edge,  when,  as  Virginia  had  anticipated,  the  papers 
were  found  beneath.  They  had  been  kept  dry, 
and  were  in  a  good  state  of  preservation. 

Having  secured  the  object  of  their  search,  Sin- 
clair and  Virginia,  anxious  to  reach  Shawneetown, 
hastened  to  return  to  the  cave  below ;  and  in  a 
few  minutes  afterwards,  the  Tippecanoe  was 
gliding  over  the  waters  of  the  beautiful  Ohio.  Be- 
fore sunset  her  cable  was  made  fast  in  front  of 
the  village  where  Virginia  had  passed  her  days  of 
childhood. 


CHAPTER   XVIII. 

IN    THE    SHADOW. 

"  I  ^HE  papers  which  Virginia  had  recovered,  ap- 
peared to  be  a  kind  of  diary  in  which,  during  a 
course  of  years  her  father  had  recorded  his  wander- 
ings, and  various  phases  of  his  feelings  and  reflec- 
tions. She  seated  herself  with  Sinclair,  near  the 
bow  of  the  boat,  soon  after  they  left  Cave-in-Rock, 
and  read  the  manuscript  aloud  to  her  husband.  It 
will  be  given  to  the  reader  entire,  —  revealing  the 
life  for  years  of  one  who,  though  guiltless,  had 
walked  in  the  shadow  of  a  crime. 

And  this  is  the  city  of  New  York !  I  have  looked 
around  for  the  indications  of  human  love.  I  have 
sought  evidence  of  that  philanthropy  which  would 
save  man  from  crime,  rather  than  punish  him  for 
being  criminal.  Surely,  said  I,  in  the  laws  and  in  the 
police  system  of  this  people,  who  have  taken  Jesus  for 
their  teacher,  I  shall  find  the  principle  of  Love. 
Surely  they  will  not  return  evil  for  evil,  as  do  those 
who  have  never  been  taught. 

To-day  I  saw  a  crowd  hurrying  to  the  outskirts  of 
the  city.     "  What,"  said  I  to  one  of  the  passing  multi- 


258  BROUGHT   TO  BAY. 

tude,  —  "  What  is  there  to  be  seen,  that  men,  women, 
and  children  hasten  thus  without  the  city?  "  "  Come 
along !  "  said  he  in  reply.  "  They  are  going  to  hang 
a  fellow  !  "  Verily  !  Was  this  the  Christian  philan- 
thropy of  the  New  World? 

The  law  of  all  Christian  lands  is  based  on  retalia- 
tion. But  the  law  of  God  is  above  all,  and  it  is  a  law 
of  Love.  Love  only  can  awaken  love  ;  and  punish- 
ment, retaliation,  vengeance,  can  only  arouse  the  very 
passions  they  seek  to  exterminate.  Jesus  taught  the 
forgiveness  of  sin  ;  and  his  teachings  apply  to  nations 
as  to  individuals. 

"My  business  is  to  catch  thieves,"  said  an  officer 
of  the  law.  I  appealed  to  him  as  a  man  in  the  name 
of  humanity.  I  told  him  my  sad  story,  —  my  convic- 
tion, my  sentence,  my  exile,  my  baffled  hopes  at  New 
Orleans,  my  flight  to  New  York,  and  my  subsequent 
efforts  to  gain  an  honest  livelihood.  I  pleaded  for 
justice,  I  prayed  to  be  permitted  to  win  a  reputation 
unstained  by  the  foul  wrong  that  had  blighted  my 
dearest  hopes.     And  this  was  his  answer  ! 

Only  a  few  short  months  are  passed,  and  I  can  once 
more  feel  the  fangs  of  the  law.  I  have  loved  that 
which  is  lovely ;  I  have  sought  to  make  Angela  my 
wife  :  this  is  my  offence. 

O  God  of  Justice,  how  mysterious  are  Thy  ways ! 
I  adore  Thee,  I  praise  Thee,  I  worship  Thee ! 
When  man,  my  fellow,  fears  me  and  persecutes  me, 
a  woman's  faithful  love  is  mine.     O,  my  Angela,  — 


IN  THE  SHADOW. 


259 


angel  indeed  to  me,  —  for  thy  dear  sake  I  curse  not 
my  race.  My  father,  who  knew  my  childhood,  my 
youth,  my  manhood,  and  never  knew  me  guilty  of  a 
a  thought  of  dishonor,  forsook  me,  but  nothing  can 
change  thy  constant  love.  The  vindictive  law  fol- 
lowed me  even  to  thy  father's  house,  and  thy  father 
has  cast  me  into  prison  ;  but  even  in  prison  thou  art 
with  me. 

To-morrow  we  turn  our  backs  upon  the  dungeon, 
but  I  have  felt  the  world's  cold  charity,  and  go  with 
fear  and  trembling :  will  there  not  be  the  law  at 
Baltimore .'' 

I  have  torn  out  a  portion  of  my  diary  and  com- 
mitted it  to  the  flames.  It  was  false  :  there  is  no  love 
in  man.  A  few  kind  offices  we  had  received  in  this 
city  had  again  awakened  hope  in  my  heart.  Fool 
that  I  was  !     Henceforth  Angela  is  my  world. 

Days,  and  weeks,  and  months !  and  now  I  have  a 
daughter.  Let  her  be  called  Angela,  like  her  mother  : 
that  is  the  name  of  love. 

My  sweet  child !  Let  me  gaze  into  thy  fair  face. 
An  immortal  soul  looks  through  those  blue  eyes ;  and 
smiles  are  playing  in  the  dimples  round  thy  mouth,  as 
if  this  were  a  world  of  joy.  Sweet  babe,  that  lookest 
into  thy  father's  face  with  such  confiding  trust,  — 
fathers  have  betrayed  their  children  :  dost  thou  know.^ 

The  law's  bloodhounds  pursue  me  still.  Vindictive, 
insatiable  Law  !     But  we  will  baffle  thy  minions  ;  we 


26o  BROUGHT  TO  BAY. 

will  cross  the  mountain  barrier  and  plunge  into  the 
depths  of  the  western  forest.  There,  amid  the  wild- 
flowers  of  the  prairies,  and  under  the  bright  skies 
which  have  not  yet  looked  on  the  law's  injustice,  we 
will  rear  our  child.  How  my  heart  swells  with  the 
thought ! 

I  stand  upon  the  mountain  top,  I  look  out  upon  the 
far  West.  Yonder,  where  the  sun  goes  down,  we 
will  build  our  cottage  and  enjoy  our  home.  Yon 
infant  city,  where  the  hurrying  waters  meet,  shall 
receive  our  farewell  to  the  world. 

Now,  God  of  Justice,  save  me  from  cursing  man  ! 
Do  I  live  and  breathe.'*  Is  it  real, — this  climax  of 
Christian  charity  }  My  child,  —  they  would  take  away 
my  child,  and  give  it  to  the  care  of  strangers.  They 
say,  forsooth,  I  am  a  thief,  and  should  not  have  the 
care  of  an  innocent  child.       Who.,  then? 

And  so  I  am  pursued  beyond  the  mountains,  and 
the  law  invoked  to  rob  me  of  my  child.  No  matter 
now :  we  are  on  the  unchained  waters  of  the  Ohio. 
We  float  beyond  reach  of  cruelty.  This  is  the  road 
to  liberty.     Once  more  I  seek  to  live  a  man's  free  life. 

Oh,  what  a  night  was  last!  My  Angela — my 
wife,  my  joy,  my  hope  —  prostrate  with  burning  fever, 
Has  even  death  conspired  against  me?  No,  she  can- 
not die,  —  though  they  have  filled  her  heart  with  bitter 
sorrow  ;  hunted  her  down  with  the  law's  bloodhounds, 
for  the  crime  of  loving,  blighted  her  brain  with  fever, 
and  laid  her  upon  a  bed  of  puin,  —  oh,  if  I  thought 


IN  THE  SHADOW.  26 1 

she  could  die  !  No,  no,  I  have  not  yet  cursed  my 
race,  but  let  Death  strike  away  the  link  which  still 
holds  me  to  my  kind,  and  —  I  am  Ishmael. 

Is  it  so,  my  sweet  babe  ?  Art  thou  alone  with  me 
in  the  wide  world  ?  Thank  God  for  love  :  even  the 
selfish  love  of  our  own  ofl'spring  is  ennobling.  I  see 
thee,  my  child,  raising  thy  tiny  hands  and  smiling  on 
me,  hear  thy  sweet,  familiar  cry,  my  birdling,  calling 
for  thy  mother,  when  no  mother's  voice  replies. 
Death  is  beside  thee,  and  thou  knowest  it  not. 

A  woman  has  lost  her  babe,  —  death  took  it ;  and 
now  she  is  pouring  out  the  tide  of  maternal  love  upon 
my  own  sweet  darling,  blindly  but  sweetly  believing  it 
her  own. 

And  can  such  things  be .''  Is  there  no  hidden  chord 
of  sympathy  by  which  the  mother  knows  her  own  .-* 
Could  I  forget  my  blue-eyed  child.'  I  will  trust  my 
heart,  but  I  will  still  be  near  thee ;  I  will  watch  the 
tiny  form  expand,  and  see  the  spark  of  love  grow 
brighter  until  thou  shalt  be  like  thy  mother.  I  will  be 
near  thee. 


At  this  point  there  appeared  a  break  in  the 
manuscript ;  after  which,  and  apparently  written 
some  years  later,  was  the  following  entry  :  — 

And  thus  have  passed  twelve  years  of  strife  with  my 
fellow-man.      The   law  will   call    it   crime ;  but  the 


262  BROUGHT   TO  BAY. 

hunted  stag  which  stands  at  bay  is  not  a  criminal. 
More  than  twelve  years  of  strife,  —  and  not  a  deed  to 
make  me  tremble.  But  now  !  To  tear  that  idol  from 
a  doting  mother,  who  fondly  thinks  the  child  her  own, 
—  this  makes  me  tremble.  Alas !  thy  little  one 
passed  long  since  to  the  spirit-land.  But  mi7te?  I 
must  do  my  duty. 

Virginia,  having  finished  the  reading  of  the 
papers,  turned  to  Sinclair,  a  tear  trembling  in  her 
eye. 

"  And  that  makes  me  tremble.  Before  the  sun 
sets  we  shall  reach  my  home  of  other  days ;  and 
my  fond,  expectant  mother —  O,  my  dear  husband, 
how  can  I  deny  the  mother  who  has  waited  for  me 
so  long } " 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

OLD  tabby's  story. HO  !  FOR  CUBA. 

TT  was  proposed  that  Tim  Rose  should  precede 
the  others,  and  prepare  his  sister  for  Virginia's 
arrival.  When  he  reached  home,  the  first  person 
he  met  at  the  door  was  his  sister,  Mrs.  Freeman. 
He  saw  at  a  glance  that  something  had  occurred 
during  his  absence  to  give  her  sorrow.  After  some 
moments  of  embarrassment,  during  which  Tim 
was  meditating  how  to  break  the  subject  of  'Ginia's 
parentage,  his  sister  burst  into  tears,  and  throwing 
her  arms  around  his  neck,  exclaimed  : 

"  Ah,  brother  Tim,  I  am  so  miserable !  My 
poor  'Ginia  turns  out  to  be  the  daughter  of  the 
robber  of  Cave-in-Rock.  It  was  he  who  stole  her 
away ;  and  the  poor  child  is  still  with  him,  no- 
body knows  where." 

"  O,  no,"  replied  Tim,  astonished  to  find  his  sis- 
ter aware  of  so  much  of  Virginia's  history.  "  You 
will  see  her  again,  Katy.  She  loves  you  as  much 
as  ever,  and — " 

"  Indeed,  brother  Tim,"  interrupted  his  sister, 


264  BROUGHT  TO  BAY. 

"  it  is  all  true.  Old  Tabby  is  dead,  and  she  told 
us  all  about  it.  The  old  creature  gave  my  little 
one  so  much  laudanum  as  to  kill  it,  and  induced 
you  to  bring  away  another  child  for  mine." 

Tim  was  meditating  what  to  reply,  and  made  no 
answer.     Mrs.  Freeman  continued  : 

"  If  they  had  only  left  me  'Ginia  I  could  bear  it ; 
my  poor,  lost  'Ginia  !  " 

Tim  felt  that  this  was  his  opportunity.  "Let 
me  tell  you  that  our  little  'Ginia  is  a  grown 
woman,  and  not  a  little  girl,"  he  said,  "and  got  a 
husband  too,  —  nobody  but  Frank  Sinclair.  And 
here  they  both  come  now,  and  'Ginia's  own  grand- 
father with  them,"  he  added  breathlessly. 

It  may  well  be  imagined  that  Mrs.  Freeman  was 
startled  by  this  announcement  ;  but  before  her 
surprise  had  time  for  expression,  the  door  opened, 
and  the  long-lost  Virginia  was  clasped  in  her  arms. 

Had  this  meeting  been  witnessed  by  any  one 
who  believes  that  there  exists  a  mysterious  sym- 
pathy between  the  mother  and  her  offspring,  that 
belief  must  have  been  much  shaken  ;  and  it  is  more 
than  probable  that  the  witness  would  have  adopted 
in  its  stead  the  theory  that  the  mother's  love,  like 
other  emotions,  "grows  by  what  it  feeds  on."  The 
first  embrace  was  long  and  silent.  Virginia  was 
the  first  to  speak. 


OLD   TABBY'S  STORY. 


265 


"  My  mother,  my  dearer  than  mother,  —  I  am 
your  daughter  still." 

"  Still  my  own  dear  'Ginia,"  replied  the  foster- 
mother,  "dearer  now  than  ever  !  " 

Mutual  explanations  followed,  and  mutual  hap- 
piness at  the  glad  reunion  prev^ailed. 

Mrs.  Freeman  related  the  manner  in  which  Vir- 
ginia's parentage  became  known  to  her  friends  at 
Shawneetown.  When  Sinclair  had  gone  to  St. 
Louis  in  search  of  her,  suspicions  began  to  arise  in 
her  mind  as  to  some  things  connected  with  Vir- 
ginia's abduction,  when  an  event  occurred  which 
solved  the  mystery.  This  was  the  death-bed  reve- 
lation of  the  old  family  slave.  Tabby.  She  con- 
fessed her  knowledge  of  the  fact  that  Virginia  was 
not  the  daughter  of  her  mistress,  and  detailed  in 
the  most  minute  and  consistent  manner  the  mode 
by  which  the  child  came  into  the  family.  Ac- 
cording to  Tabby's  account,  it  occurred  in  the  fol- 
lowing manner  : 

When  Mrs.  Freeman's  daughter  was  about  one 
year  old,  and  during  the  separation  of  the  parents, 
the  father  had  stolen  her  away,  and  brought  her  to 
this  woman  Tabby,  to  nurse.  Some  three  months 
afterwards  a  white  man,  who  said  his  name  was 
Leyba,  came  to  Tabby's  cabin  with  a  child  of  the 
same  age  as  Virginia,  and  very  strongly  resembling 


266  BROUGHT  TO  BAY. 

her.  He  stated  that  the  child's  mother  had  died 
the  night  before  on  the  river,  and  offered  Tabby  a 
large  sum  to  take  care  of  the  child  for  a  few  days, 
when  he  said  he  would  return  for  her.  On  the 
night  of  this  new  arrival,  the  negress  had  given 
the  little  'Ginia  an  overdose  of  laudanum,  of  which 
the  child  died.  In  the  morning  the  stranger  re- 
turned to  see  his  child,  and  observing  the  woman's 
fear  and  distress  at  her  carelessness,  he  proposed 
to  her  that  his  own  child  should  be  dressed  in  the 
clothing  of  the  other,  and  the  dead  one  buried  as 
his  own.  The  woman,  dreading  punishment,  ac- 
cepted the  proposition,  and  the  little  'Ginia  Free- 
man was  buried  as  the  child  of  the  stranger.  This 
had  happened  while  Freeman  was  temporarily 
absent  ;  and  before  his  return  his  wife,  by  the  aid 
of  his  brother  Tim,  had  secured  the  stranger's 
child  as  her  own.  The  real  father  of  the  girl,  who 
had  never  for  a  moment  thought  of  forsaking 
her,  secretly  watched  over  her  welfare  until  he 
determined  that  the  time  for  reclaiming  her  had 
come.  This  he  had  done  by  working  on  the  fears 
of  the  negress.  By  threatening  her  with  prosecu- 
tion for  the  murder  of  her  mistress'  child  and  the 
imposition  of  another  in  its  stead,  he  succeeded  in 
making  her  decoy  his  daughter  from  her  foster- 
mother's    side,   and    deliver   her   into   his    hands. 


OLD    TABBY'S  STORY.  267 

As  to  where  they  went,  or  where  they  were,  the 
negress  protested  her  utter  ignorance,  and  died 
protesting  the  truth  of  her  story. 

When  Mrs.  Freeman  had  concluded  her  account 
of  the  death  of  old  Tabby,  and  her  explanation 
concerning  'Ginia,  old  Mrs.  Rose  cut  short  all  fur- 
ther conversation  by  calling  the  company  into  the 
adjoining  room  to  supper.  As  they  passed  through 
the  doorway  between  the  rooms,  the  old  lady 
turned  to  her  husband  and  said  half  aside,  "jest 
as  I  told  you,  Dan.  The  gal  has  got  prettier  and 
prettier." 

Old  Dan  Rose  was  not  the  man  to  express  his  feel- 
ings in  hyperbole,  but  he  nevertheless  replied  :  — 

"  True,  old  woman.  A  better  specimen  of  a 
backwoods  gal  can't  be  found  in  the  settlement." 

The  old  folks  had  doated  on  their  blue-eyed  pet, 
and  were  delighted  at  her  return.  But  the  old 
lady  remembered  that  when  young  birds  are 
fledged  and  mated,  they  always  fly  away  to  a  nest 
of  their  own.  After  the  company  was  fairly  seated 
at  the  table,  therefore,  she  took  occasion  to  say  in 
an  undertone  to  Virginia,  as  she  handed  her  a  cup 
of  her  favorite  sassafras  :  — 

"  'Ginia,  you  won't  leave  us  now,  will  you  ? " 

Virginia  appreciated  the  affection  which  prompted 
the  inquiry,  and  replied  :  — 


268  BROUGHT  TO  BAY. 

"  Wait  until  I  tell  you  after  supper,  grandmother, 
then  I  will  leave  it  all  to  you." 

But  Mrs.  Freeman  heard  both  the  question  and 
reply.     She  immediately  exclaimed  :  — 

"  Where  Virginia  goes  I  will  follow,  even  though 
it  be  out  of  the  United  States." 

"  That's  just  what  I  wanted  to  have  you  say,  my 
dear  mother,"  replied  Virginia.  "  Grandfather  de 
Ulloa  is  going  to  take  us  to  his  own  home  in 
Havana." 

"  Katy,  you  don't  eat  anything,"  said  old  Mrs. 
Rose. 

"I  cannot  eat,  mother,"  replied  Mrs.  Freeman. 
"  I  am  thinking  of  the  desolation  I  should  leave 
behind." 

"Tut,  tut,  Katy,"  interrupted  Dan  Rose.  "Your 
mother  and  I  are  getting  old,  and  you  will  soon  be 
left  alone.  My  advice  is  to  go  with  'Ginia.  I 
don't  want  to  part  with  you,  Katy  ;  but  —  things 
are  best  in  the  long  run,  even  if  they  do  go  agin 
the  grain." 

Don  de  Ulloa  added  his  persuasion  to  the  homely 
argument  of  Dan  Rose.  He  told  Mrs.  Freeman 
she  should  be  rendered  as  happy  as  wealth,  good- 
will, and  the  society  of  Virginia  could  make  her ; 
and  concluded  by  reminding  her  that,  now  the 
steamboats  were  running  with  such  speed  against 


HO!  FOR   CUBA.  269 

the  current,  it  would  not  be  a  great  undertaking  to 
visit  her  parents  every  year  or  two. 

"  That's  sensible,"  said  Dan  Rose.  "  'Ginia's  as 
much  her  daughter  as  though  she  had  been  born 
so,  and  loves  her  just  as  much." 

By  the  time  supper  was  ended  it  was  agreed 
that  Mrs.  Freeman  should  accompany  Virginia  to 
Havana,  old  Dan  Rose  and  his  wife  advising  the 
measure,  at  the  same  time  that  their  eyes  filled 
with  tears  at  the  thought  of  separation,  perhaps 
forever.  On  the  next  morning  began  the  bustle  of 
preparation  for  the  journey.  A  steamboat  was 
expected  to  pass  on  her  way  to  New  Orleans  with- 
in a  week,  and  it  was  decided  to  take  advantage  of 
the  opportunity  thus  afforded  to  make  a  short  pas- 
sage. Old  Mrs.  Rose  was  very  busy  m^aking  prepara- 
tion for  the  comfort  of  the  young  folks.  She  even 
talked  of  preparing  eatables  for  the  voyage. 

"  Why,  grandmother,"  said  Virginia,  "  steam- 
boats are  like  the  fine  hotels  in  the  city  ;  they  sup- 
ply all  your  wants,  and  leave  you  nothing  to  do  but 
enjoy  yourself." 

"Ah,  yes,  'Ginia,"  said  the  old  lady,  "but  they 
say  they  are  terrible  things  to  bust  the  biler  and 
kill  folks  ! " 

"  I  hope  that  is  rather  imaginary  than  real,  grand- 
mother," responded  Virginia.     "  I  suppose  if  there 


270  BROUGHT  TO  BAY. 

was  really  much  danger,  people  would  stay  away 
from  them,  and  they  would  go  out  of  use." 

"  I  don't  know  about  that,  'Ginia,"  replied  the 
old  lady.  "  People  git  used  to  danger,  so  as  to 
kinder  like  it  after  a  while." 

"  Well,  grandmother,  you  know  I  was  never  in 
the  habit  of  taking  trouble  in  advance.  Let  us 
hope  for  the  best.  At  any  rate,  while  we  live  at 
all  on  board  the  steamboat,  we  shall  live  well ;  so 
you  will  save  all  your  nice  things  until  we  come 
to  see  you." 

The  old  lady  turned  her  face  away  to  hide  a  tear. 
She  knew  it  was  not  probable  that  they  should 
meet  again.  " '  Ginia,"  said  she,  "  I  never  murmur 
at  Providence,  though  it  goes  hard  sometimes. 
Providence  sent  you  to  us,  and  Providence,  —  and 
that  nice  young  man,  —  are  going  to  take  you 
away.  I  think  it  was  all  to  be  so,  'Ginia,  else  it 
wouldn't  a  'bin  so.  Why  was  Sinclair's  life  spared, 
with  a  crack  in  his  skull  from  the  Indian's  toma- 
hawk .''  Why  did  you  and  he  travel  up  the  Missis- 
sippi in  the  same  barge  1  Why  did  he  escape  from 
the  Indians,  and  come  to  our  house  to  be  nursed  "i 
Why  did  he  prove  true  to  you  for  five  years  in  spite 
of  all  the  bright  eyes  in  the  territory  t  And  why 
did  he  find  you  when  nobody  else  could  }  Ah, 
Providence  does  great  works,  'Ginia  !  " 


HO!  FOR   CUBA. 


271 


"  You  have  really  made  out  a  strong  case,  grand- 
mother," replied  Virginia,  "  but  the  most  striking 
facts  extend  further  back  than  your  knowledge  goes. 
Do  you  know,  grandmother,  that  I  do  not  think 
there  was  any  special  Providence  about  it  ?  " 

At  the  conclusion  of  Virginia's  remark,  her 
grandmother  laid  down  the  clear-starched  laces 
she  had  been  clapping,  took  her  iron-rimmed 
spectacles  from  her  nose,  and  looking  with  an  air 
of  alarm  into  'Ginia's  face,  said, — 

"  'Ginia,  you  haven't  turned  heretic  with  them 
Catholics,  I  hope  ?" 

Virginia  burst  into  a  laugh.  She  had  so  often 
heard  the  religion  of  her  mother  called  heresy, 
that  now  to  hear  the  same  term  applied  thus  dif- 
ferently, struck  her  as  simply  ludicrous.  She 
replied, — 

"  No,  no,  grandmother  :  if  by  heretics  you  mean 
Roman  Catholics,  I  am  still  Orthodox." 

The  old  lady  restored  her  spectacles  to  their 
wonted  position,  and  Virginia  continued, — 

"  Nevertheless,  I  have  found  the  true  spirit  of 
the  Saviour  among  Catholics  as  well  as  Protestants; 
when  love  to  our  fellow-man  is  wanting,  whatever 
our  creed,  we  are  heretics." 

For  want  of  a  better  reply,  the  old  lady  clapped 
the  clear-starched   laces  all  the  faster.     But  Vir- 


272  BROUGHT  TO  BAY. 

ginia  desired  a  more  definite  reply,  so  she 
asked,  — 

"Is  there  any  heresy  in  that,  grandmother?" 

"  Elder  Havens  says  all  Catholics  are  heretics," 
responded  Mrs.  Rose. 

"And  the  pope  and  priests  say  all  Protestants 
are  heretics,"  said  'Ginia. 

"  Then  how  are  we  to  know  anything  about  it  ?" 
queried  the  old  lady. 

"  I  judge  by  the  fruit,"  replied  Virginia,  "  if  that 
be  love,  the  tree  is  not  heresy." 

At  this  moment  Tim  Rose  entered  the  room 
hastily,  and  cut  short  further  discussion  by 
announcing  that  a  steamboat  was  in  sight  at  the 
island,  nine  miles  above  the  town, — and  coming 
down  with  all  speed.  In  an  hour  or  less  she 
would  be  at  the  landing ;  and  all  who  were  going 
must  then  be  ready. 

This  sudden  parting  was  more  than  the  old  lady 
could  bear ;  so  she  turned  to  Virginia  and  said, — 

"  Don't  you  go,  'Ginia  !  I'll  be  bound  there'll  be 
other  steamboats  along  in  a  little  while  ;  besides — 
besides,  'Ginia ." 

"Tut,  tut !"  exclaimed  Dan  Rose,  who  entered 
from  an  adjoining  room  where  he  had  overheard 
his  wife's  remark,  "  the  longer  you  wait,  the  worse 
you  will  feel.     Stir  about  and  git  all  ready ;  and  if 


HO!  FOR  CUBA. 


273 


we  must  cry  a  little,  wait  'till  we  see  'em  on  the 
boat,  and  then  it  will  do  no  harm." 

All  was  now  bustle  and  excitement  for  the  next 
hour,  trunks  were  strapped  and  baggage  carried  to 
the  bank  of  the  river  to  be  ready  for  the  steam- 
boat ;  friends  and  neighbors  came  to  bid  farewell ; 
and  half  the  village  gathered  on  the  bank  to  see 
the  approaching  vessel  and  witness  the  departure 
of  Don  de  Ulloa  and  his  newly  found  family. 

Within  the  hour  the  steamer  came  in  front  of 
the  town  and  commenced  the  then  somewhat  diffi- 
cult manoeuvre  of  "rounding-to."  She  required 
something  less  than  a  mile  of  the  river  for  that 
purpose,  the  successful  accomplishment  of  which 
she  announced  by  firing  a  cannon,  much  to  the 
gratification  of  the  people  on  shore,  who  nearly 
all  belonged  to  a  class  naturally  fond  of  the  explo- 
sion of  gunpowder. 

Then  came  the  hurry  of  departure,  the  farewell 
kiss  of  parents  and  children,  the  mother's  silent 
tear,  and  the  father's  words  of  encouragement ; 
the  pressure  of  friendly  hands,  and  the  expression 
of  sincere  regrets :  then  a  ringing  of  bells,  a 
rush  of  steam,  and  a  clatter  of  machinery,  and 
they  were  gone. 


CHAPTER  XX. 

A   CATASTROPHE. — CONCLUSION. 

'T^HE  steamboat  Ohio,  on  which  the  chief  sub- 
jects of  our  story  were  now  embarked,  was 
not  one  of  those  light  and  graceful  vessels  which 
now  meet  the  eye  upon  our  Western  rivers.  Her 
hull  was  built  very  much  after  the  fashion  of  a 
Dutch  merchantman  intended  for  sea  service; 
her  bow  was  broad  and  round,  her  sides  high,  and 
her  draft  of  water  some  twelve  or  fifteen  feet. 
The  fore  part  of  the  hull  was  occupied  by  the 
boilers  and  engine,  and  the  after  part  by  the 
heavier  articles  of  freight.  On  the  lower  deck  a 
gangway  divided  the  vessel  amidships,  aft  of  which 
was  fitted  up  for  the  use  of  passengers.  There 
were  no  state-rooms,  as  at  present,  but  three  or 
four  ranges  of  berths  ran  along  each  side  of  the 
cabin,  screened  by  red  and  yellow  curtains.  The 
upper  deck  was  used  as  steerage  room  for  the 
lighter  and  more  bulky  articles  of  freight.  Such 
was  the  general  character  of  the  Ohio. 

When  our  voyagers  went  on  board  they  found 


A    CATASTROPHE. 


275 


the  cabin  occupied  by  various  people  from  different 
places,  most  of  whom,  like  themselves,  were 
bound  for  New  Orleans.  Berths  were  assigned  to 
Virginia  and  Mrs.  Freeman  near  the  stern  win- 
dow, where  the  ladies'  department  was,  separated 
from  the  main  cabin  by  folding-doors.  Don  de 
Ulloa  and  Sinclair  took  their  chances  among  the 
berths  near  the  engine. 

No  event  of  special  interest  occurred  for  several 
days.  The  weather  became  more  pleasant  as  they 
approached  the  South;  and  all  on  board  were 
enjoying  the  prospect  of  a  pleasant  voyage  as  the 
revolving  wheels  carried  them  rapidly  down  the 
stream. 

Three  or  four  days  after  the  party  left  Shawnee- 
town,  Don  de  Ulloa,  in  the  presence  of  Virginia, 
handed  a  sealed  paper  to  Sinclair,  requesting  him 
to  preserve  it  with  strict  care ;  if  he  should  never 
call  for  it  during  his  life,  it  was  to  be  opened  after 
his  death  in  the  presence  of  witnesses.  The  tone 
and  the  expression  of  countenance  which  accompa- 
nied the  injunction  somewhat  startled  Virginia, 
and  she  asked  with  some  misgiving,  "Is  there 
anything  wrong,  grandfather .? "  "I  hope  not,  my 
daughter,"  replied  the  old  man.  "I  do  this  as  a 
measure  of  prudence.  I  know  there  is  no  wrong 
in  that." 


2/6  BROUGHT  TO  BAY. 

At  this  moment  Mrs.  Freeman,  who  was  stand- 
ing at  the  stern  window,  called  their  attention  to 
another  steamboat  which  could  be  seen  only  a  mile 
or  two  behind,  and  which  appeared  to  be  rapidly 
gaining  on  their  own  boat.  At  the  same  moment 
a  shout  went  up  from  the  crew  on  their  boat :  they 
had  also  just  discovered  the  approaching  steamer. 
The  voice  of  the  captain  was  suddenly  heard, 
speaking  to  his  men. 

"  Fire  up,  boys  ;  fire  up !  It  will  never  do  to  let 
the  Vesta  get  ahead  of  us." 

"  Ay,  ay,  sir  !  "  responded  the  men.  "  Fire  up 
it  is." 

The  wood  was  crowded  into  the  furnace,  and  the 
grates  freed  from  ashes  to  increase  the  draft ;  but 
still  the  other  boat  was  gaining.  A  barrel  of  rosin 
was  brought,  and  the  contents  shovelled  into  the 
fires.  A  thick,  black  smoke  poured  out  of  the 
smoke-stacks,  and  the  overstrained  boilers  hissed 
with  the  escaping  steam.  By  this  time  the  women 
had  taken  alarm,  and  sent  for  the  captain  for  the 
purpose  of  begging  him  to  desist.  He  assured 
them  there  was  no  danger  ;  and  then,  as  he  hastily 
withdrew,  he  closed  the  folding-doors  which  cut 
off  the  ladies'  cabin  from  the  fore  part  of  the 
vessel..  Sinclair,  Virginia,  and  Mrs,  Freeman 
watched  the  approaching  boat  from  the  stem  win- 


A    CATASTROPHE. 


277 


dows,  and  saw  the  thick,  black  smoke  pouring  from 
her  smoke-stack, — evidence  that  she  too  felt  the 
excitement  of  the  race. 

Don  de  Ulloa's  heart  sickened,  as  he  thought  of 
the  possible  result  of  the  reckless  contest,  and  he 
lay  down  in  his  berth  to  await  the  issue.  The 
steam,  which  before  had  been  rushing  from  the 
safety-valve  with  a  noise  almost  terrific,  was  now 
prevented  from  escaping  by  tying  down  the  valve, 
the  captain  saying  it  would  otherwise  alarm  the 
passengers. 

The  captain  proved  to  be  just  half  right ;  for 
when  his  passengers  no  longer  heard  the  escaping 
steam,  a  large  proportion  of  them  really  imagined 
the  danger  was  past.  But  the  pale-blue  steam 
hissed  between  the  boilerplates,  like  the  laboring 
breath  of  some  huge  monster  in  pain  ;  and  the 
whirling  waters  gathered  in  foam  around  the  ves- 
sel's bow,  in  startling  contrast  with  the  sable 
smoke-clouds  above.  Over  all  could  be  heard  the 
sound  of  the  crackling  fires,  the  voices  of  excited 
men,  —  commands,  encouragements,  and  curses 
mingled  in  the  same  breath. 

Suddenly  there  was  a  deep,  cavernous,  explosive 
sound ;  and  an  atmosphere  of  hot  steam  enveloped 
the  boat,  almost  shutting  out  the  light  from  the 
ladies'  cabin.     Some  of  the  women,  in  great  alarm. 


2/8  BROUGHT  TO  BAY. 

ran  to  throw  open  the  folding-doors,  but  Sin- 
clair, with  perfect  presence  of  mind,  opposed  them, 
and  kept  the  doors  closed  as  the  only  protection 
against  the  steam  which  filled  and  enveloped  the 
boat. 

Groans  and  cries  came  from  the  forepart  of  the 
boat.  Until  this  moment  Virginia  had  remained 
silent,  but  she  now  begged  to  have  the  doors 
opened,  and  search  made  for  her  grandfather ; 
others  who  had  friends  in  the  main  cabin  joined  in 
the  entreaty,  and  Sinclair  opened  the  doors. 

Although  partially  cooled,  the  steam  entered  the 
doorway  with  much  force.  Sinclair  attempted  to 
find  his  way  through  the  murky  steam  to  the  berth 
of  Don  de  Ulloa,  but  found  it  impossible  from  the 
mass  of  ruins  which  lay  in  his  way. 

By  this  time  the  other  boat  had  reached  the 
scene  of  the  disaster.  The  captain  of  the  Vesta 
took  the  helpless  vessel  in  tow,  and  himself  and 
men  did  their  best  to  pick  up  the  drowning  and  aid 
the  wounded. 

The  reader  will  not  be  pained  by  a  recital  of  the 
particulars  of  the  scenes  of  carnage  and  woe  ;  since 
that  day  the  world  has  learned  to  know  them  but 
too  well.  Suffice  it  to  say  that  the  captain  and 
most  of  the  officers  were  among  the  missing,  while 
not   one  of  the  passengers   except   those   in   the 


A    CATASTROPHE.  279 

ladies'  cabin  at  the  time  of  the  explosion  escaped 
unharmed.  The  body  of  Don  de  Ulloa  was  found 
in  a  part  of  the  boat  which  had  escaped  destruc- 
tion, still  in  his  berth.  He  had  apparently  died 
from  inhaling  the  hot  steam. 

The  Vesta  remained  at  the  scene  of  the  wreck 
for  several  hours,  burying  the  dead.  Then  the  re- 
maining passengers  were  taken  on  board,  and  she 
proceeded  on  her  voyage.  The  body  of  Don  de 
Ulloa  was  placed  in  a  rude  coffin,  pitched  within 
and  without,  and  was  taken  on  board  the  Vesta  for 
transportation  to  New  Orleans. 

On  the  morning  after  the  disaster,  Virginia  wrote 
a  detailed  account  of  the  accident,  to  be  ready  to 
send  by  the  first    opportunity   to   Shawneetown, 

She  knew  that  accounts  of  the  catastrophe  would 
be  carried  by  the  first  boat,  and  cause  great  anx- 
iety to  their  friends  there.  The  letter  was  written 
before  Sinclair  thought  of  opening  the  papers 
which  had  been  left  in  his  care  by  Don  de  Ulloa, 
and  it  bore  to  Shawneetown  the  promise  that  after 
a  brief  visit  to  Cuba,  the  party  would  return.  The 
captain  promised  to  put  the  letter  on  the  first  up- 
ward-bound boat,  which  he  did  several  days  before 
they  reached  New  Orleans,  at  which  port  they  ar- 
rived in  safety. 

At  New  Orleans  Sinclair  first  thought  of  open- 


280  DROUGHT  TO  BAY. 

ing  the  papers  confided  to  him  by  Don  de  Ulloa, 
It  was  finally  decided,  however,  to  defer  this  until 
the  party  should  reach  Havana,  as  the  document 
was  probably  subject  to  the  authority  of  the  local 
laws. 

The  voyage  on  the  Gulf  was  short  and  pleasant ; 
and  they  were  soon  among  a  people  who  spoke  an 
unfamiliar  tongue. 

After  they  had  comfortably  settled  themselves 
at  a  hotel  and  had  recovered  from  the  fatigue  of 
the  journey,  Sinclair  sought  a  lawyer  who  could 
speak  the  English  language,  stated  his  case  to  him, 
and  asked  his  advice.  The  man  of  law  looked  at 
him  with  a  scrutinizing  gaze,  and  instead  of  giving 
him  the  necessary  information,  asked  him  if  his 
name  was  not  really  Santa  Clara. 

"  My  name  is  Sinclair  —  or  was,  in  the  United 
States ;  my  father's  name,  however,  was  Santa 
Clara." 

"And  he  lived  here  in  Havana.?  "  said  the  attor- 
ney. "  I  knew  him  and  all  about  him.  It  was  rather 
an  unfortunate  decision  of  the  law  that  sent  his 
antagonist  to  the  chain-gang.  You  look  just  like 
him,  and  —  " 

But  Sinclair  cut  him  short :  "  I  wish  to  prove 
how  I  came  by  these  papers,"  said  he.  "  Will  you 
tell  me  how  I  shall  proceed  ? " 


CONCLUSION.  281 

The  attorney  immediately  turned  his  attention 
to  business.  He  accompanied  Sinclair  to  the 
proper  court,  and  a  carriage  was  sent  for  Virginia 
and  Mrs.  Freeman. 

For  greater  safety  it  was  thought  best  to  have 
the  witnesses  testify  to  all  points  which  might  be 
found  to  bear  upon  the  papers.  The  parentage  of 
Virginia  and  Sinclair,  and  Virginia's  former  con- 
nection with  Mrs.  Freeman,  all  came  before  the 
court ;  then  the  delivery  of  the  papers,  the  charge 
of  Don  de  Ulloa  concerning  them,  and  his  subse- 
quent death  on  the  steamboat,  together  with  the 
fact  that  his  body  was  still  awaiting  burial  in  the 
city. 

The  papers,  when  opened,  proved  to  be  de 
Ulloa's  will,  duly  executed,  witnessed,  and  re- 
corded at  St.  Louis,  in  the  Territory  of  Missouri, 
in  Northern  Louisiana ;  and  also  a  full  recog- 
nition of  Virginia  as  his  granddaughter,  with  a 
brief  summary  of  the  evidence  which  bore  upon 
her  identity.  The  testator  devised  the  whole  of 
the  estate  to  Virginia  and  Sinclair  jointly,  regard- 
less of  any  question  of  identity,  on  condition  that 
they  should  reside  permanently  in  Cuba ;  it  also 
made  provision  that  the  body  of  his  son  should  be 
brought  from  St.  Louis  and  interred  in  the  family 
vault,  and  the  testator's  body  placed  beside  it,  and 


282  BROUGHT  TO  BAY. 

their  resting-place  marked  by  the  following  joint 
inscription  :  — 

ANTOINE    DE    ULLOA: 

FATHER     AND     SON. 

Separated  in  Life  bj  Law :  United  in  Death  by  Love. 
"  In  the  midst  of  Wrath  remember  Mercy." 

The  story  of  Sinclair  and  Virginia  was  a  nine 
days'  wonder  in  the  city.  They  came  into  pos- 
session of  the  estate  of  de  Ulloa  without  difficulty  ; 
and  soon,  surrounded  by  the  gay  society  of  Ha- 
vana, they  began  to  feel  that  permanent  residence 
in  Cuba  was  by  no  means  an  unpleasant  fate. 
Under  the  guidance  of  a  teacher  Virginia  rapidly 
acquired  a  familiarity  with  the  Spanish  language, 
and  Sinclair  recovered  his  mother-tongue ;  even 
Mrs.  Freeman  was  compelled  to  admit  that  she 
had  known  worse  people  than  the  Cubans,  —  "  for 
instance,"  she  said  pleasantly,  "  the  Indians." 

CONCLUSION. 

Three  years  after  their  arrival  in  Cuba,  our 
friends  made  a  long-promised  visit  to  Shawnee- 
town ;  but  that  is  no  part  of  our  story,  and  is  only 
referred  to  now  for  the  sake  of  introducing   the 


CONCLUSION.  283 

young  Antoine  de  Ulloa  Santa  Clara,  who  made 
one  of  the  party. 

Great  names  do  not  always  indicate  great  men, 
and  the  bearer  of  the  very  long  one  just  recited 
was  a  little  fellow  indeed  ;  but  in  the  eyes  of 
Sinclair  and  Virginia  at  least  he  was  worthy  of 
his  name ;  and  to  Mrs.  Freeman  his  awkward 
attempts  to  pronounce  the  word  "grandmother" 
were  evidence  of  unusual  talent. 

When  the  little  company  reached  Shawneetown, 
they  learned  that  Dan  Rose  was  no  more ;  old  Mrs. 
Rose  was  still  alive,  however,  and  retained  her 
memory  in  full  vigor ;  for  among  the  very  first 
things  she  said  to  Virginia  was,  "  I  told  you  the 
steamboat  would  bust  her  biler,  didn't  I .-'  " 

"  Yes,  grandmother,  indeed  you  did,  —  unfortu- 
nately. If  you  had  not,  perhaps  it  might  not  have 
happened." 

The  old  lady  was  shrewd  enough  to  observe  the 
pleasantry  and  laughed  heartily. 

Tim  Rose  had  taken  a  wife,  and  was  enjoying 
the  honeymoon. 

"  What  has  become  of  my  old  friend,  Captain 
Summers  .-•  "  inquired  Virginia  of  Tim. 

"  Would  you  believe  it,  'Ginia  .^  "  laughed  Tim. 
"  Tom  Summers  is  at  Cincinnati,  building  a  steam- 
boat ! " 


284  BROUGHT  TO  BAY. 

"I  am  hardly  surprised,  Uncle  Tom,"  replied 
Virginia.  "  Tom  Summers  is  the  man  to  keep  up 
with  the  times." 

"  Yes,"  responded  Tim,  "  but  he  is  getting  ahead 
of  the  times  now ;  he  says  the  steamboats  are  all 
built  wrong,  and  he  is  going  to  show  them  what  a 
fresh-water  boat  ought  to  be.  I  half  believe  he 
will  do  it,  too." 

"And  I  altogether  believe  it,"  replied  Virginia. 
"  It  is  a  want  of  judgment  to  build  these  broad, 
deep  hulls  for  river  navigation." 

"Why,  our  'Ginia's  become  quite  a  sailor,"  said 
Tim,  laughing. 

"  Well  she  might ! "  exclaimed  old  Mrs.  Rose. 
"She's  been  blowed  up,  —  she  ought  to  know." 

"  And  what  about  Mr.  Wilson,  and  Mr.  Calvard  ? " 
inquired  Sinclair. 

"  Well,"  replied  Tim,  "  Wilson  has  gone  to 
heaven,  I  have  no  doubt ;  and  Calvard  has  gone 
to  Congress,  I  know." 

"And  now  if  I  could  only  hear  from  my  old 
friend  Sister  Naomi,"  said  Virginia,  "  I  believe  / 
should  be  up  with  the  times." 

Nobody  could  tell  anything  about  the  Sister,  and 
when  the  visit  was  over,  and  Sinclair  and  his  party 
started  on  their  return  to  Havana,  they  had  still 


CONCLUSION.  285 

been  unable  to  learn  anything  concerning  her. 
The  reader  must  trust,  as  Virginia  did,  that  the 
Sister's  good  heart  would  still  bring  her  friends, — 
however  the  question  of  heresy  be  decided. 


THE    END. 


UCSB   LIBRARY 


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